Gardenia
by Hidon
Summary: Quinn is living a lie, and the last thing she needs is a prince to save her. I plan to make it lengthy and slow-burning, so hop onboard if you'd like to follow an undoubtedly angsty, eventually sexy and overall romantic Faberry story.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** Hi readers. This is a Faberry fanfiction story that I've classified as M for later chapters. Right now, it's rated T for strong language and the "adult thematic element" of domestic violence. I plan to make it lengthy and slow-burning, so hop on-board if you'd like to follow an undoubtedly angsty, eventually sexy and overall romantic story about Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry. The title of this fanfic has been changed from "My Kingdom for a Kiss" to "Gardenia."

**Prologue**

Judy Fabray had always been the type of woman who needs a man. When she was little, she'd make wedding scrapbooks with her tiny hands meticulously filling white pages with white gowns and faceless princes. All she wanted was a special day and a prince who could protect her from the darkness, because she'd lived so much darkness. Whenever Judy saw the bruises on her mother's face, she didn't dream of escape, or abandon; she dreamt of the day when her handsome, young prince would come to rescue her—to care for her the way her father wouldn't and her mother couldn't.

Judy remembered bringing Russell home to meet her parents for the first time, in vivid detail. She should have known when she saw the way Russell shook hands with her father that she was doomed. Her handsome, young prince with his golden hair and shining eyes was an accomplice to the cruelty of the man who had controlled every aspect of her life.

As she helped set the dining room table and heard the booming laughter of the men in the other room, Judy tried desperately to lock eyes with her mother—to make her mother see her so her mother could assure her that everything would be alright. She may have always been a coward, Judy thought bitterly, but she was never a liar, not to me. Maybe to the doctors and the nurses and the family friends brave enough to whisper their concerns over coffee while her father was at work, but she wouldn't lie to me.

Judy stopped tinkering with the expensive china and gripped the edge of the chair, desperately wanting her mother to look up at her. But the empty-eyed older woman only stared down at the perfect place settings, arranging them carefully, one by one. Building the perfect fantasy of what her life should look like and ignoring what it was. Judy's eyes began to water as she saw her mother reaching down gently, making sure not to slide up her long sleeves and reveal the bright purple bruises from her father's fingers where he had identified her as property. Judy couldn't remember the last time she'd seen her mother's eyes alight. She'd only seen the ghosts of embers when she'd shown her mother her wedding scrapbooks as a little girl.

"Look, mommy!"

"That's nice, dear." Her mother would flinch as her long fingernails scraped the pasted-on doilies covering the petal-pink cover.

"I'm gonna marry a prince, one day, mommy. Just like Cinderella did!"

"GODDAMNIT, FRANCES! GET DOWN HERE!" The bellow from downstairs shook every wall in the house and every defense Frances had as Judy looked up at her, petrified.

"Daddy swore…" Judy didn't yet have the vocabulary to express her terror. "He sounds mean."

Frances heard the heavy thuds of his footsteps scaling the scales.

"Hide!" She grabbed the little one and shoved her in the closet.

Judy still remembers the itch of the taffeta from her princess gowns pushing up against her in the closet as she peered out of the slits to watch her mother cower below her father on the cold, wooden floor. The only thing that kept Judy from screaming was running her fingers over the tiny jewels in the toy crown her father had bought her. She stared down at the silver plastic and prayed for her prince to come rescue them.

**Present Day**

Quinn Fabray ran her fingers over the cold metal of her tiara, the plastic jewels spelling out "Miss Teen Lima." She willed herself to feel pride, as she lowered it onto her perfectly-coiffed hair and smiled her best pageant smile into the mirror of her vanity.

Quinn remembered how it felt to step forward on that stage, under the blinding lights and be crowned a modern-day princess. Her heart had swelled as she bowed her blonde head. Then she waved to the throngs of adoring people, including Russell and Judy Fabray, clapping in the front row.

That was how it felt to be happy, she thought. In that moment, under the spotlight with that crown, she could see her route of escape. Maybe she wouldn't have to wait for a handsome prince to rescue her. Maybe she could flee Lima all on her own. But after the confetti dropped and her eyes adjusted to take in her surroundings, she felt the cheap metal of the crown dig into her scalp, the vaguely disinterested faces of the people who had nothing better to do in Lima on a Saturday afternoon than watch a couple of Lima losers be princesses for a day. Even the loud boasts of her father about "MY daughter" couldn't encourage her "subjects" to give more of a damn about her than they did about watching the losing McKinley football team that night.

Smile for the cameras, Quinn. All six of them. Smile for the one local news station that might use your pretty face as B-roll if the water-skiing squirrel story gets cut from tonight's broadcast. Smile as you look around at the wood paneling of the drab VFW and know you'll never escape.

Quinn smiled so hard that her aching jaw clenched shut, still throbbing from where Russell had laid into her when she tried to protect Judy from his drunken blows weeks before. She smiled so hard that tears rolled down her cheeks, just like they did with real pageant princesses. The beautiful blonde waved elegantly to the emptying crowd, who could no longer find it in themselves to be parties to a royal fantasy.

When she stepped off the stage, her father wrapped her in his powerful arms and she withered like a violet, looking over his broad shoulders to the proud and sad face of her mother. Quinn had never noticed it before that night, but her mother's eyes seemed hollow—like some light that once burned had been snuffed out.

Quinn surveyed her own striking green eyes in the vanity, searching for signs of light there. She had seen so much darkness in her seventeen years.

"JUDY, FOR CHRISTSAKES, WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO MY TIE? IT'S FUCKING RUINED!"

Quinn's muscles tensed only slightly at the roar from downstairs. She was used to it. And when Judy told her that Russell was moving back in less than a year after he'd abandoned them for a "tattooed freak," she'd expected it. When her mother confessed this to Quinn, it sounded like an apology. Quinn accepted it, as she always had.

She sneered ruefully at Russell's shouting and damned her mother's weakness. "Judy has always been the type of woman who needs a man," she thought.

And her man wouldn't return to her until his youngest daughter was rid of that "bastard" in her belly. Now that everything looked perfect again, Russell returned home as if nothing had happened. An "extended business trip," he had told their congregation. He still maintained his whore on the side, no doubt. But he was eager to regain his image of the perfect husband, with the perfect wife, and the perfect home.

"No," Quinn thought as she adjusted her crown, "I'll never be like my mother."

Her eyes were drawn down to the picture of Finn Hudson—she kept his framed photograph on the smooth white wood of the vanity. She picked up the small, heart-shaped frame in her palm and looked down thoughtfully at the young man, smiling sadly at his good-natured, lopsided grin.

"He'd do." Quinn thought. Finn was kind and seemed to love her with an earnestness that she'd never experienced before. When he touched her, she didn't feel the sting of anger or ego. She didn't feel much of anything, but he was there for her. Quinn wondered idly if she would ever be able to feel anything again after willing her body to become numb for so many years.

Now wasn't the time to worry about this, though—not if Quinn wanted prom queen. And she did. She needed it more than anything. She tossed her long blonde hair back and smoothed out her skirt as she stood before the mirror. Perfect.

Quinn's smile was bright, beaming, until she recalled that one obstacle still stood between her and the prom queen title: Her name was Rachel Berry.


	2. Chapter 1: Motivations

**Author's Note: **This chapter contains the scene from "Prom Queen" (season 2, episode 20) where Rachel advises Finn on which corsage to give Quinn. Therefore, there are a few quotes that are pulled directly from the Glee script, but I've fleshed out the Faberry subtext of that scene with Rachel's internal monologue. You don't need to have seen that episode to understand the scene, I just wanted to give credit where credit is due—the Glee writers. I welcome any comments or criticisms. Thanks for reading. This fanfic was formerly named "My Kingdom for a Kiss" and is now named "Gardenia."

**Chapter 1: Motivations**

Rachel Berry came bounding out of her dad's SUV and walked, in that cheerful way that only she could muster at 7:30am, through the doors of William McKinley High School. She clutched her books to her chest as she marched down the crowded hallways. Not many people liked Rachel, which was why her unflinchingly upbeat persona constantly demanded the attention and even respect of those around her. One of these people was Quinn Fabray.

"Good morning, Quinn! How are you this lovely Monday morning?" Rachel beamed, undeterred by the blonde's side-glare.

"You know, Berry, I've got to be honest: I'd be a hell of a lot better if you weren't on a constant quest to steal my boyfriend. But I guess people as desperate as you can't attract guys the good, old-fashioned way that doesn't include, you know, belting out random ballads and complex subterfuge." Quinn sneered. There was something about the petite brunette that made her blood boil and her hands shake. Even before Rachel ever dated Finn, Quinn didn't trust her. There was something about her that made the blonde uneasy.

Rachel lowered her eyes; she had already braced herself for Quinn's insults, but couldn't help but approach her when she saw Quinn staring sadly into her locker, as if she'd forgot something she never had to begin with.

"Oh, um…about that, I…I'm sorry, Quinn. I know I shouldn't have sung that song to Finn last week, I was just—"

"Selfish? Shocking. Rachel Berry only thinks of her own prerogative. You don't give a damn about what anyone else wants if it interferes with your perfect life." Quinn's eyes were narrowed, but her tone seemed more hurt than scathing.

Rachel placed her small hand on Quinn's arm as Quinn angrily shuffled books around in her locker.

At the instant of the gentle contact, Quinn recoiled back as if she'd been stricken, dropping several books onto the ground as Rachel stared wide-eyed at the girl. By that time, several students were watching the interaction in stunned silence.

"Quinn, I'm sorry—"

"Don't…" Quinn scooped up the books and slammed them into her locker, one-by-one, "…touch me."

Rachel darted her eyes around the hallway, slightly embarrassed by the scene, but more overpowering was her growing concern for the tall blonde. She'd never seen Quinn lose her temper like this; usually, her anger was expressed in one frigid glare that could freeze hellfire. Before Rachel could apologize again, Quinn crashed her locker door shut, making the brunette jump, and stormed down the hallway.

Guilt bubbled up in the pit of Rachel's stomach. Yes, she had tried to win Finn back, and when Rachel did something, she never did it quietly. But, who could blame her, she rationalized? They just made so much sense together: The two leads of the Glee club, both with aspirations of escaping this small town. And he loved her, she knew it. She loved him, too, she thought. He was dependable, and loyal, and without guile. So why should she feel guilty for slighting a girl who'd made her life a living hell since middle school? And Quinn only wanted to be with Finn because he could guarantee her prom queen…so why, then, did her guilt not subside? And why did she feel the overwhelming need to chase after the blonde?

Rachel stopped in her tracks to weigh her options, and then made a bee-line in the direction that Quinn had stalked off towards. She walked with purpose, ignoring the tiny voice asking why she cared. Rachel didn't know why she cared—why she felt obligated to make sure Quinn was alright. Well, maybe she did. They'd had their disagreements, she thought. But they were really on their way to becoming friends lately. Quinn could be incredibly kind when she put her mind to it. And there was something to beautifully delicate about her…so fragile that—

"So, I heard a nasty rumor that Jesse St. James is back in town, and I also heard that he's going to be your date for prom." Finn Hudson was now trailing behind Rachel, but Rachel only sighed and continued walking as Finn pressed her further.

"No, he's joining Mercedes and Sam and I on our prom on a budget. He's going to be in town for a while, though, so I'm not sure what's going to come of it." Rachel answered, coolly.

Jesse…right, Jesse. How could Rachel have forgotten? Jesse St. James was an unforgettable if unforgivable ex-boyfriend. His public humiliation of her still stung, but more so out of shame that she was so naïve rather than regret from losing him. On paper, Jesse was everything Rachel should want in a man…kind of like Finn…only, she corrected herself inwardly, Finn was kind and he loved her. Finn was the one she should want. The one she did want.

"I just, I don't trust him. I mean, don't you remember what he did to you?" Finn followed her closely, pleading with her.

Rachel spun around and looked up at the dumbstruck jock, "Finn, you can't tell me what to do anymore, okay? If I want to date Jesse, or anyone for that matter, it stopped being your business when you broke up with me."

"I…I still care about you." Finn furrowed his brows, laying his heart bare.

"Look, all I ask, is that whoever I choose, that you be as supportive of me as I've been of you and Quinn even though I'm dying every day inside about it." Rachel paused after she let the gravity of her words sink in to them both. She seemed shaken by what escaped her own mouth, as she watched the boy process what she'd just confessed to him. Dying inside? But…I don't even know if I really love Finn. Rachel shifted uncomfortably under the weight of what she said, then she spun on her heel towards the classroom Quinn had left for…She had to make sure Quinn was okay. For the moment Rachel allowed herself to think through her own motivations, she was startled.

Unrelenting, Finn followed her, "You know, I don't even want to go to this stupid prom anymore. Quinn's got me handing out pens with our names on them. Where's the dignity?"

Rachel stopped in the middle of Finn's tirade to pretend to look through her locker, trying to avoid making eye contact with him. "What's wrong with me?" Rachel thought.

"And I hate renting those tuxes…and the corsage? I know I'm going to pick the wrong one and then Quinn's going to be all pissed off and she'll look at me like—"

Rachel interrupted his stream of consciousness, "Hey, just…just get her something simple—a wrist corsage. Girls like Quinn, you don't want to do anything that's going to distract from their face, so ask for gardenia...with a light green ribbon wrapped around it to match her eyes." Rachel was overcome with emotion, but she couldn't trace it. All she knew for certain was that she meant the advice she gave Finn with unsettling conviction. She thought of how Quinn would smile when he wrapped the delicate flower around her wrist with the bow that paled in comparison to her sparkling eyes. Rachel was struck silent by a sharp pang of jealousy as her imagination drifted off to Quinn's pretty, sad smile.

Finn could only stand there, watching Rachel and looking stunned at her thoughtfulness. "She must really love me," he thought as his heart swelled, "She wants me to be happy."

The late bell rang and snapped both of them out of their reverie; tears of confusion welled up in Rachel's eyes as she remembered: Quinn, she had to find Quinn. But then she saw Mrs. Witcher start to close the door on her English class and she ran in the other direction, silent tears rolling down her cheeks.


	3. Chapter 2: Opening Night

**Author's Note: **This chapter, like the last one, fleshes out a couple more of the scenes in the "Prom Queen" episode by making the blatant subtext actual text, so to speak. We all knew that the Faberry was there brimming under the surface, I'm merely bringing it to light. As with the last chapter, there are several quotes that I took directly from the script, so they belong to the Glee writers. This fanfic was formerly named "My Kingdom for a Kiss" and is now named "Gardenia."

**Chapter 3: Opening Night**

"Quinny! Your date's here!" Judy's voice rang up the staircase as Quinn smoothed down her blonde hair. Perfect.

Her eyes didn't even flicker over the small frame of Finn resting on her vanity. All Quinn could see were the throngs of admirers clapping for her as she ascended the stage to take her rightful place as queen. No one could take this away from her; she had worked too hard for it and no one wanted it as badly as she did. She lowered one of her metal tiaras onto her head and practiced her best royal smile—brilliant but demure. This was her night. No one else's.

As Quinn reached the top of the stairs, her smile faltered. She heard the sound of Russell's loud snoring erupt from the master bedroom. He only snored when he'd been drinking. She slammed her eyes shut and resolved herself to forget him. Not even he could rip tonight from her hands.

Quinn's mind returned back to when she was a little girl and her mother taught her a valuable lesson: "Quinny," she had said as she brushed a tear away from the girl's still-stinging red cheek, "Ladies never show their emotions; it's poor form. Whenever you feel like crying, I want you to refocus all of your energy, and smile."

And smile Quinn did as she elegantly descended the stairs as if she were a debutante in the Old South.

As she saw her daughter saunter down the stairs, Judy Fabray returned instantly to the night of her senior prom. The cheerleaders and the football team had a raging after-party by a raging bonfire out in the Arizona desert. She remembered drinking for the first time and seeing Russell drunk for the first time. That night was also the first time Russell put his hands on her. They'd be voted "class couple" when the yearbook was published a week later. "They were high school sweethearts" her mother, Frances, would whisper proudly at their wedding.

"Let me get my camera." Judy's voice broke as she scurried away from the scene, taking note of how reverent Finn was of her daughter and hoping it was genuine.

"You look great." Quinn smiled tightly at Finn, pleased that he was overcome by her beauty.

"You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in my life." He answered back awestruck, entranced by her—The way the pale blue gown hugged the curves of her lithe body. The way the cinched waist of her gown accentuated her graceful collarbone and lead up to her beautiful, beautiful face.

She knew Finn was earnest in his compliment, but Quinn couldn't bring herself to respond to it, instead looking down to the box in his trembling hands.

"I—uh—I got you a wrist corsage." Finn stammered as he took the pale white Gardenia with its sage green ribbon out of the box.

Quinn smiled, sadly at the thoughtfulness of the boy, and felt a brief pang of guilt for using him, "It matches my eyes."

"I know." Finn smiled proudly, and silently thanked Rachel for her advice.

Quinn leaned down to reward to boy's kindness with a kiss when her mother came bounding out of the kitchen, camera in hand, "Okay, you two. Picture time." Judy clutched her heart and sighed, "Oh, you look like Cinderella," as tears began to fall from her eyes.

She steadied herself and remembered her mother's advice, "Judy, ladies never show their emotions."

As she refocused all of her energy into smiling, Judy ushered Quinn and Finn into a prom pose and breathed, "Smile for the camera."

Both the flash and their smiles were blinding.

**OOOO  
><strong>

Rachel, Jesse, Mercedes, and Sam sat in polite conversation at Breadsticks. And Rachel mooned over Jesse only when she felt the other teenagers' eyes train on her. She feigned excitement over the boy's "ingenious" idea of starting a show choir consulting firm. Ever the thespian, Rachel could literally feel herself over-acting when she suggested Jesse could be the "show choir whisperer." It was all too exhausting, and Rachel could barely quell her impatience to see Quinn…and Finn, of course. She just wanted to see what they were up to with one another, she reasoned.

No sooner than she had turned the thought of them over in her head had Quinn Fabray glided over to their table. Rachel's mouth hung open as Quinn greeted her royal subjects.

"Hey guys, you look amazing," Quinn smiled graciously, "And don't forget to vote for Hudson-Fabray tonight."

Rachel's eyes fell to rest on the couple's tightly locked hands and she felt a surge of jealousy rise up from the pit of her stomach. As any stage actress would, Rachel wore her pain like a painted on mask, loud and glaring for the world to see—distorting her pretty face into a frown.

Mercedes sighed in sympathy; Rachel could grate her nerves sometimes, but she felt for the girl. It must be heartbreaking to watch the person you love be so happy with someone else.

Finn glared down at Rachel and Jesse sitting together, "Hey Jesse. What'd you order, scrambled eggs? I mean, I know you usually like them served on people's heads."

"Quinn, you look stunning—the ghost of Grace Kelly. Let me know if you get tired of your boyfriend stomping on your pretty little feet all night; I'll be happy to cut in." Jesse was blasé in his dismissal of Finn, as if Finn were a bad joke he had heard one too many times.

Mercedes broke the tension between the two posturing boys: "Okay, hush, you guys. You're totally ruining the vibe. Quinn, you loot hot. Finn, you look handsome. Love you guys, but get lost. We'll see you there."

Quinn cocked her eyebrow and scowled, clearly livid that Finn may have cost them several prom votes. She linked her arm with his and dragged him out of the restaurant to further mitigate any of the damage he had done.

Rachel smiled tightly as the four teenagers toasted to the night, but her eyes were fixated on Quinn throwing open the double doors. She was radiantly beautiful even when she was storming out, Rachel thought, before Jesse tugged on her hand to leave. Rachel collected her purse, her corsage, and her bearings before embarking on what she was certain would be an eventful night.

**OOOO  
><strong>

The group of four arrived to what was already arguably Lima's social event of the season. Rachel eyed Puck edging dangerously close to the punch bowl with what appeared to be a flask and she was almost certain she saw Brittany cartwheel across the dance floor and fall into the arms of an unsuspecting couple as they danced.

"I guess our dates really are her dates." Rachel laughed to herself.

Jesse found the group an empty table, then went to grab them some questionable punch and Sam left the group to sing a number with Puck and Artie.

"Since when has Rebecca Black's "Friday" become a prom classic?" Mercedes laughed, nudging Rachel's arm.

"Yeah…" Rachel agreed, not listening, "It's much too formal a song for prom." Rachel stood on her tip-toes over the jumping crowd to see if she could find Finn and Quinn. 5'2 still feels like 5'2 in heels, she lamented.

"Excuse me, 'formal?' 'We so excited' girl is much too dignified a recording artist to play at a high school prom?" Mercedes chuckled, eyeing Rachel.

"Huh?"

"You were being sarcastic, right?"

"About what?" Rachel asked, not caring about the answer as she wrung her hands and looked nervously around the room.

"Look Rachel, I know you're looking for Finn and Quinn."

At that, Rachel spun around, wide-eyed to stare at Mercedes. "N…no."

"Y…yeah, and it's okay to admit it. I mean, he was your first love. It's understandable for you to still have feelings for him."

Rachel seemed visibly relieved at Mercedes' statement. "Yeah, you're right. I'm just hung up on him. I mean, can you blame me?"

At that moment, both girls spotted Finn "dancing" with Quinn, only his dancing looked more like how a seal would flop after it stubbed its flipper. Quinn was not amused, ushering her date into a corner of the dance floor so the least number of voters would see him as possible.

"Yeah, he's quite the charmer." Mercedes cocked her eyebrow and put her hands on her hips.

"Well, this has been nice," Rachel said brightly, "Anyway, got to go! I'm up next!"

Never one to miss a performance, Rachel strode confidently towards the stage.


	4. Chapter 3: Senseless

**Author's Note: **In this chapter are more extended and fully realized scenes from the season two episode "Prom Queen" including the infamous Faberry slap. By all means, enjoy yourselves. Of course, this means that any direct quotes I pulled from the Glee script belong to the Glee writers. Also, the songs featured are Christina Perry's "Jar of Hearts" and Black Kids' "I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance With You."

**OOOO**

The instant Rachel stepped into the backstage darkness, her confidence collapsed. _That's how it seems to go for me, _she thought, bitterly. Brave in front of an audience but when I'm alone with myself, away from the spotlight, I'm nothing but a coward. What's wrong with me?

She fussed with the itchy chiffon of her pink dress and avoided staring into her own eyes in the reflection of the dusty mirror beside the stage.

"Rachel! There you are. You're going to miss your cue! You were "on in five" four minutes ago." Mr. Schuester strode up to the girl impatiently, then stopped short when he saw her forlorn expression.

He furrowed his eyebrows, "You okay?"

"Yeah!" Rachel, knowing she was being watched closely, lit up the bright lights for her audience, "Of course, Mr. Schue! I'm just getting into the mood of my selection—into character, if you will."

She smiled with an actress' flair and started towards the curtain before Mr. Schuster rested his hand gently on her shoulder to stop her, "Hey, just ignore him, okay? Pretend like he's not even there. This is your song. This is your night."

Rachel stared up blankly into Mr. Schuster's eyes, searching for the meaning in his words. She looked down momentarily in thought then back up at Mr. Schuster as if hit with an epiphany: Finn. Of course, Mr. Schue's talking about Finn.

"Right!" Rachel sounded as if she'd just discovered how to solve a math problem, which confused Mr. Schuster even more. "Umm…I will! And…um…thank you! Your sentiments are, as always, much appreciated in my time of stage fright." She gave her teacher a half curtsey and beamed.

"Stage fright?" Mr. Schuster thought as his eyes followed the little brunette up towards the curtain. He had no doubt Rachel Berry would make a wonderful actress, but she was a terrible liar.

**OOOO**

"_I know I can't take one more step towards you" _Rachel sang the opening line barely above a whisper.

"_'Cause all that's waiting is regret" _She willed herself to find the courage to open her eyes and bring them up towards the audience, knowing who she would see there.

"_And don't you know I'm not your ghost anymore?" _When she finally looked out across the gym, her eyes fell instantly on Finn and Quinn and she slammed them shut again.

"_You lost the love I loved the most" _

"_And I learned to live, half-alive"_

"_And now you want me one more time" _Rachel forced her eyes open to gaze at the couple, swaying slowly along to the music. Her eyes traveled up Quinn's bare back until Finn caught Rachel's gaze with his and she closed them again to belt out the chorus.

"_And who do you think you are?"_

"_Runnin' 'round leaving scars"_

"_Collecting your jar of hearts"_

"_And tearing love apart" _Finn almost winced, guilty at having caused Rachel so much pain. His only refuge from Rachel's stare was to sway slowly around so that his back faced her.

"_You're gonna catch a cold"_

"_From the ice inside your soul" _Quinn's eyes fluttered open at the poignancy of the lyric and when they did, Rachel Berry was staring her down. Quinn dug her nails into the back of Finn's neck and glared up at the stage, causing Rachel to look away. Quinn startled herself when she felt the unfamiliar pang of guilt hit her. She really had been terrible to the poor girl, sometimes…but she could not afford to think of that right now. She needed that crown. And Rachel needed to back off of her only chance at getting it.

"_So don't come back for me"_

"_Who do you think you are?" _Rachel finished the song by finding spots on the wall to sing to—too petrified to venture her gaze downward, again. Too petrified to confront her feelings. As an aspiring actress, feelings were her trade but they had often been her death knell—her undoing. And right now, stealing one more glance at the couple, she could not have placed those feelings if she wanted to.

As the music of the ballad died down, Quinn turned away from Rachel and focused on her date, "I'm so happy to be here with you." She said her line without conviction, as if she were rehearsing for an upcoming act, "It's what I've always wanted."

**OOOO**

"_You are the girl that I've been dreaming of ever since I was a little girl"_

Blaine Anderson belted out the dance tune to a raucous McKinley crowd of gowns, and tuxedos.

"_You are the girl that I've been dreaming of ever since I was a little girl"_

Jesse spun Rachel around in his arms, swooping in gallantly to catch her and hurling challenging looks at a jealous Finn. Quinn slid her hand behind her date's neck to keep him focused on the seemingly difficult task of making his legs conform to some kind of rhythm as the crowd danced around the two couples.

"_One! I'm biting my tongue._

_Two! He's kissin' on you._

_Three! Oh, why can't you see?_

_One! Two! Three! Four!"_

For every time Rachel smiled at Jesse's flirtations, she'd steal a glance at Finn and Quinn who looked as if they were about to rip down the seams like a broken heart…then it happened.

"_The word's on the streets and it's on the news:_

_I'm not gonna teach him how to dance with you._

_He's got two left feet and he bites my moves._

_I'm not gonna teach him how to dance! Dance! Dance! Dance!"_

Jesse tilted his head down and kissed Rachel's neck. She tried to keep a smile on her face through her shock but her eyes immediately shot to Quinn dancing then up to Finn who was staring daggers at Jesse. She'd seen that look before and it was always trouble.

Before Rachel could pull away from Jesse to calm the situation, Finn stormed up to the pair and grabbed Jesse by the shoulder, "Hey! Dude, keep it PG."

Jesse seemed almost gleeful at the chance to humiliate Finn in front of a large crowd, "Dude, it's none of Y.B.—your business." By that point, the two girls were standing beside their dates, awestruck. Rachel tried to get Quinn's attention. She needed the blonde to see that this wasn't her doing.

"Well, this is my school, so it is my business."

"Well, this isn't your girlfriend, so beat it, MJ."

Quinn was frozen, watching her chance at prom queen slip away with her date's grasp of his temper. This was not happening.

Finn pushed Jesse's shoulder once and soon enough the two boys were in a shoving match that neither Quinn nor Rachel could stop.

"What is that matter with you?" Quinn tried to drag her date away, but he pushed his full force into Jesse's chest. "Stop it! You're ruining everything!" At that moment, Quinn could feel her crown fall from her fingertips all because of this idiot boy…and her…Rachel.

Rachel grabbed for Jesse's collar, "Hey! What are you doing?"

Finally, Finn swung a right hook at Jesse's head that was intercepted by none other than Sue Sylvester.

"Hey! Prom is over for you, Sugar Ray!" She pointed to Finn, "And you, Marvelous Marvin, you're out! Let's go!" Predictably, Sue was the only person capable of wrangling the two boys by their necks and dragging them out of the gym.

Quinn trailed them desperately, "Wait, but, he and I are nominated for prom king and—"

"Sucks for you, sister!" Sue yelled over the noise of the crowd and the thud of the bass setting a beat to Quinn's personal disaster.

The blonde slowly turned to glare down at a bewildered Rachel. Quinn just knew, _she_ was responsible for this. This was _Rachel's_ fault—her revenge for all those years Quinn had tormented the girl. She should have expected it sooner or later. But, why now? Why did Rachel have to be so cruel tonight of all nights?

Rachel winced at Quinn's withering expression and stepped forward slightly in a show of peace, guilt, and sorrow.

_Please, she can't be mad at me. Please don't let that venom be because of something I did. I can make it better, Quinn._ Again, Rachel was shaken by her own feelings.

_Shouldn't I be walking after Finn? The man I'm supposed to love? I do love him, I do. I just wish it didn't hurt her so much. She looks as if she's about to cry—like she's about to break or something…_ Rachel cautiously stepped forward towards the blonde and extended her arm, but Quinn brushed past her towards the stage.

It was too late to make amends; Principal Figgins took to the microphone over the hushed whispers of the crowd to declare McKinley's junior prom king and queen. Quinn pageant-walked up the stairs to take her rightful place as close to the crown as possible.

_That crown is mine. It's my crown to lose. _Quinn reasoned, keeping her collected veneer on for the crowd so no one would regret voting for her. Even though her idiot of a date was disqualified, she could still be crowned and she would be. She had to be.

When Figgins declared David Karofsky the prom king, Quinn gave him the once over and smiled to herself manically. He'd do. Football player. His shirt matched her dress and he was taller than her even though she was wearing high heels. The pictures would look nice on her parents' mantle. _Picture perfect_, she sighed calmly.

"You suck so bad, Quinn Fabray, I won!" Santana hissed in her ear but Quinn rolled her eyes and continued to smile radiantly as if the confetti had already fallen.

"And now, the 2011 McKinley high prom queen…" Figgins drew out the drama in the wooden way only he could manage, "with an overwhelming number of write-in votes is…"

He paused and scanned the audience: "Kurt Hummel."

The blinding spotlight fell on the boy's stunned face as students snickered and slow-clapped. Rachel's mouth hung open and she teared up, watching her good friend's humiliation. The cruel joke cut her to her core and she could feel the homophobia and the apathy seething off the crowd as they either laughed at or shrugged off Kurt's pain. Her heart broke for Kurt…And for her fathers…and for some other reason she could not articulate, even to herself.

Kurt raced through the crowd to escape, Blaine following closely behind him. Rachel started towards the boys only to be halted mid-step by a pastel blue blur careening off the stage—Quinn. She was headed towards the girls' bathroom. _Blaine will take care of Kurt_, She reasoned as she dashed towards the blonde. She caught up with her just as Quinn flung open the bathroom door.

"Quinn, you need to calm down—"

"This is your fault!" Quinn spit as she spun around to tower over the petite brunette. "No one ever would have voted for me because they know he would rather be with you!"

Rachel was taken aback by the pain in Quinn's voice, "That's not true—"

Seventeen years of anger welled up inside of Quinn, threatening to spill over. Seventeen years of disappointment and unrealized dreams. Seventeen years of regret and sorrow at never feeling good enough. For a brief second, she felt what her father must feel every time he rationalizes his outbursts and it terrified her, but before she could blink away the red, she raised her hand up high and connected it with Rachel's cheek electrifying the air with a loud _crack_.

It was as if Quinn watched herself slap Rachel across the face—as if she had not been in control of her own body. The sharp, stinging sound echoed off the empty walls of the bathroom. Quinn had laid her entire weight into the hit. _Like father like daughter_, she thought as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks and she surveyed the hurt face of the little brunette—her friend. They could have been friends before this.

Rachel clutched her red cheek in pain but Quinn saw something else drift across her face as she looked down in horror at what she'd done—heartbreak; Rachel seemed crushed.

Quinn stepped forward slightly, her voice shaking under the gravity of what she had done, "I am so sorry."

Rachel could only stand, paralyzed, and let what had happened sink in.

"There's no way I'm staying at this school. I'm going to transfer." Quinn backed away from Rachel, thinking of a way out—escape.

Rachel tried to calm Quinn down by slowly walking towards the bathroom mirror and offering, "I suppose I'm supposed to be upset about being slapped in the face but…" She traced her fingers over the slender, red handprint, "I happen to appreciate the drama of it."

Quinn tried to smile, if only in gratitude for Rachel's joke, but she could only manage a half-wince. The tall blonde leaned back against the sink and stared off into an unknown distance, "I know you think it's hard to be you, Rachel…at least you don't have to be terrified all the time."

Rachel's alarm colored her face as she wet a paper towel with cold water. _Terrified? Who hurt you, Quinn? _Rachel wanted Quinn to be honest with her, but the girl's walls were up and her demeanor was disarmingly cool, so Rachel tried, in vein, to match it.

"What are you so scared of?" Rachel tried to whisper as evenly as possible, but she was certain that her concern had shone through. And as she looked up at Quinn's red, empty eyes, her heart skipped a beat. Where was that pretty green? She looks so troubled. Rachel slowly offered the wet washcloth to Quinn. Their fingers touched briefly and Quinn's darkened eyes sparkled as if to say "Thank you."

Quinn measured her words carefully before replying: "The future…when all of this is gone." She motioned to the high school and choked back a bitter laugh. _As if this was anything important to begin with. _She distracted herself from her own anxieties by dabbing at the mascara running down her face.

"Look, you have nothing to be scared of." Rachel said it with such conviction that it snapped Quinn out of her sad reverie and Quinn could only watch Rachel go on, enraptured by her genuine kindness.

"You're a very pretty girl, Quinn—prettiest girl I've ever met," at that moment, Quinn's heart began to race and she began to study Rachel's features more closely. Was she acting…shy?

"But you're a lot more than that." Rachel finished, acutely aware that she was being watched.

Quinn was struck by a new wave of emotion and turned away from Rachel to face the comforting blankness of the bathroom wall. Almost instantly, fresh tears shook through her body.

Rachel's heart was sewing itself back up only to rip itself in half every time she saw a tear fall down that pretty face. God, Quinn was stunningly beautiful. Even more so when she cried because her mask fell away to reveal a vulnerability Rachel knew Quinn let no one else see. Rachel felt quietly honored. Lucky, even.

"Here…" Rachel whispered as she reached up to dab the blonde's tears for her.

Quinn sighed as she let herself succumb to the compassion of the petite girl. Her entire body tensed when Rachel slid the cool cloth tenderly underneath her eyes. But she was shaken to realize that it was not the usual tension Quinn felt when Finn would clumsily grope under her shirt or her father would connect his fist with her stomach or her mother would wrap her icy fingers tightly over Quinn's shoulders…This was different: Rachel didn't want anything from Quinn. She only wanted to give her something, and while Quinn did not yet know exactly what that something was, she knew that she had never known selflessness like this. Underneath Rachel's simple actions and words lay a kindness that she did not know the motivation for, but for once, she was not afraid to find out.

"Rachel…I really feel like I have to say it again: I am so, so very sorry for what I did to you."

Rachel smiled, touched at how the girl was laying her emotions bare, "Hey, it's okay. You've already apologized once. I'm not going to torture you." She couldn't help but tuck a blond tendril behind Quinn's delicate ear and absentmindedly slide her thumb down the side of Quinn's jaw line, as if her finger was driven by instinct. Quinn's natural reaction was to lean, ever so slightly, into Rachel's hand until the girls locked eyes. It was so subtle, but the instant Rachel realized how intimate the touch was, she shook it from her mind and busied herself by fixing Quinn's makeup. Quinn cleared her throat and leaned a little straighter against the bathroom sink.

"God, Finn can be such a Neanderthal sometimes," Rachel sighed, trying to change the unspoken subject.

"Yeah, he really can be. And he dances like a caveman, too."

Rachel giggled, trying to keep her hand steady, "He's a good guy, though. I have to give that to him," Rachel grasped at finding the right words to say, "You're…lucky."

Quinn grimaced slightly, "Yeah, I am." She asked the next question with trepidation, steeling herself for the answer, "You really like him, don't you?"

Rachel rolled the question over in her mind before answering: "We just…make sense together—he and I…You know?"

Quinn nodded her head in understanding before fluttering her eyelashes, "I know. I know more than you think I know. But Finn and I obviously didn't make sense enough to even win prom king and queen in lousy Lima."

Rachel smiled softly at Quinn, not yet fully comprehending her admission, "Well, Miss Fabray, I always thought senselessness was vastly underrated." Quinn chuckled as Rachel continued, still dabbing the blonde's cheeks, "Just once, I'd like to kiss someone absolutely _senselessly_." The little brunette laughed at her own dramatic flair, not noticing the smile had vanished from Quinn's face until a full minute later after she had retrieved a fresh, wet paper towel.

"Are you okay, Quinn?" Rachel furrowed her brows and closed the space between them.

"Fine. I'm fine."

"Oh! Looks like I missed a spot. Quinn's eyes widened as Rachel stood on the tip-toes of her 6 inch heels to dab the corner of Quinn's left eye—their faces only inches apart. A very faint, blackish-blue semi-circle had been revealed under Quinn's foundation after Rachel had slid the wash cloth over it the first time.

Rachel frowned and scrubbed hard, "That's weird. It's not coming off." Rachel pushed down harder on the faded mark.

Quinn doubled back in pain and gasped making Rachel jump. "Oh my God! I maimed you!" Rachel clutched her chest dramatically, "Quinn, I'm so sorry, did my fingernail scrape your eye?"

"No…I…" Quinn faced the mirror and saw the outline of a bruise. She covered it quickly with her hand, "I have to go."

"Quinn, wait!" Rachel grabbed Quinn's free wrist as she headed for the bathroom door.

Quinn's eyes bore down into Rachel's and she saw a glimpse of the mania that had been aflame before Quinn slapped her. Frightened, the brunette immediately dropped Quinn's wrist and backed away.

The old bruise had sunken its way all the way down to the bone, but what wounded Quinn the most before she stormed out of the bathroom was the look on Rachel's face—terror. She knew it all too well. She peered at Rachel through the mask of her hand, before retreating into the comforting roar of the crowd. Quinn always performed better in front of an audience.


	5. Chapter 4: Ugly

**Author's Note:** This chapter, like the last, is an extension of "Prom Queen."

**OOOO**

Rachel had never felt as alone as when the bathroom door slammed shut behind Quinn. She leaned her bare back against the cold tiles of the white wall in an attempt to shock herself back into reality. _Because this_, she thought, _This can't be real._ It's like all the color had been drained from the world—the red of her lips, her golden hair, those big green eyes, they had all gone away. _And I never knew that I needed them to begin with._

Rachel began to pace the length of the empty floor, taking note to count the click-clacks of her heels so she could be distracted by something—so she could think of anything but her. _Guilty. I feel guilty because I love her boyfriend. All this silliness is because I'm a good person and I naturally don't want to hurt someone else's feelings, even if that someone else is someone I hate. _

Rachel winced at even the notion that she could hate Quinn. Whenever their friends pitted the girls against each other, it always felt like they were staging an elaborate act—a Broadway production of what the two girls should feel towards each other, but Rachel knew, deep-down, neither of them had any hatred for one another. The jealous glares, the scheming, they were just going through the motions of their high school script.

The brunette looked up into the mirror and dragged the pads of her fingertips over her pink left cheek. Rachel's mind drifted back to when her thumb had stroked Quinn's face just moments before and she flushed crimson, feeling the heat most strongly underneath that fading handprint. She cranked the cold water knob so hard that icy water splashed from the faucet, to the basin, to her dress. She cupped her hands underneath the spout, as if in prayer and splashed a wave on her face. _To hell with my makeup. I'm crying anyway._

Rachel bowed her head and gripped the edge of the sink until her knuckles turned white. _I feel so badly whenever I see her with him because Quinn's my friend. That's why I can't stop thinking about her. I want to be with Finn, I just don't want to hurt my friend in the process._

Rachel breathed in deeply and readied herself to face the crowd again. Her only comfort now was the tingling warmth of her left cheek.

**OOOO**

Quinn snaked through the unruly crowd towards the red exit sign, until something made her freeze. Her heart swelled as she saw Kurt take the stage so boldly. Reconsidering her escape, she found refuge behind a gang of giant hockey players too drunk to notice that Miss Congeniality was using their bulk as a shield to hide from the night. Leaning against the wall, she peered from the shadows of the back corner of the gym as she watched Kurt graciously accept his crown. _I've never been brave like that. _

Kurt smiled politely at the mostly hostile group, "Eat your heart out, Kate Middleton."

A smile tugged at the corners of Quinn's lips and a new wave of tears trickled down her face. _One day, I'll be proud like that. And not the kind of proud that makes me tear others down to boost myself up. One day, I'll be proud enough to smile for the audience without my mask on._

Out of the corner of her eye, Quinn saw a pink figure emerge from the bathroom—Rachel. The petite girl seemed to be scanning the audience, looking for someone.

_I wonder what she wants with me._ Quinn's heart fluttered until her reason clamped it in a vice grip, _She's not looking for me, she's probably looking to see if Finn managed to sneak back inside. _ Quinn launched herself off the wall which roused the hockey players from their drunken stupor. _Shit_.

"Hey baby…" The biggest, ugliest one leered at Quinn as she edged along the wall, trying to escape Rachel's gaze and the jock's reach. This was the last thing she needed.

"Look, I just wanted to say, that I totally would've voted for your hot ass if I didn't think voting for Elton John would be so funny." The jock stepped towards her, reaching out to put his hand around her back.

Quinn's face contorted in disgust as she swerved to avoid him. Howls of laughter and catcalls followed her as she dashed towards the exit until finally, she was enveloped in the cool night air.

She tugged at the pins in her bun until her long blond hair spilled over her shoulders and she willed herself to breathe for what felt like the first time all night.

Her limousine driver was parked beside the school buses and she breathed a sigh of relief when she started toward him and he turned the engine on. _Thank God this nightmare's over. At least Finn had the grace to walk home._

"Hey there, little lady," the elderly driver called out as he opened his door, "You already takin' off your dancin' shoes?"

Quinn waited for the driver to waddle over and open her door. She answered as politely as possible, "Home, please."

Quinn wrapped her arms around herself. It was even colder in the backseat than it was outside.

The driver peered at her in his rearview mirror, "Hey, where's that gentleman you came with? No way he found a girl to dance with prettier than you."

Quinn smiled tightly, "He's hardly a gentleman and his tribal stomping can hardly be called dancing, but for all I know he ran off with the circus. Can I go home now?"

The older man was taken aback by the answer. He pondered it for a moment then looked back up at her in the mirror, "Right away, little lady."

Quinn waited until the driver rolled up the divider to take off her stilettos and lean into the leather of the seat. Without warning, laughter bubbled up in her throat and spilled over until she started giggling loudly. _This is all such a joke. _She laughed so hard that she had to hold her chest and lean over to catch her breath. _I don't give a damn about prom queen. I must've embarrassed myself so badly by actually "campaigning" for it. I mean, can you imagine? _Campaigning_ for a plastic fucking crown that'll snap in half if you slam it against the wall like I want to do with all my other plastic fucking crowns. Who _cares_? Why did I ever _care_?_

The driver shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he couldn't help but hear the loud laughter through the divider. _She's probably talking on her cell phone_, he reasoned. _Those kids and their new-fangled Blueberries. They don't even know how to make pleasant conversation with an old man anymore._

_Why _did_ I care? _Quinn sighed and rolled the question over in her head as she saw house after house with the same white trim and the same black shutters with the same picket fence beside the same minivan.

"You're a lot more than that." Rachel had said. The gravity of the statement gave her pause. Quinn sighed as she quietly reveled in it. She let her eyes flutter shut and leaned back, stretching her long legs out across the leather seats. _So are you, Rachel._ While no one was watching her, she let her mind drift off to the touch of the brunette's delicate thumb against her jaw. It felt so good—like warm water on aching bones. That must be what it's like to be touched by someone who cares for you.

The car came to a screeching halt outside the Fabray home and Quinn was shaken from her day dream. _Yeah, she cares about you so she can get close enough to steal your boyfriend. You can't trust anyone._

The driver flung her door open and half-bowed, as anxious as Quinn was to end the evening. The blonde shivered as her bare feet hit the cool blacktop and she graciously tipped the driver with a twenty dollar bill before collecting her heels and purse and starting across the wet grass, "Thank you."

Quinn surveyed the towering house before noticing that no lights were burning in the windows. She opened the front door slowly, careful not to let it creak and closed it behind her. The house was pitch-black. Quinn started towards a table lamp when she saw a figure shift in the moonlight. It was then that she was hit with the rank, thick smell of bourbon. Her breath quickened as she outlined the slumped figure of her father shrouded in the shadows of his chair. _Please, let him be asleep._

She headed for the stairs when she heard a ragged breath and the figure in the chair straightened itself like a waking giant. Paralyzed In fear, Quinn could only grip the railing. Russell slowly groped for the lamp on the end table and the light seemed blinding when it clicked on. She covered her face and backed slowly up the stairs.

"Quinn, do you want to explain something to me?" Russell barely blinked from the light. His eyes were glossy and red.

"I need you to help me with this, because I just can't seem to make sense of it." He feigned a good-natured tone which made him all the more menacing.

Every time it happened, there was always a brief moment where Quinn couldn't believe this was her life.

Russell started towards her slowly. It would be funny if it weren't terrifying; her father was dressed to the nines, as usual. His navy blue Brooks Brothers blazer perfectly fitted over a clean white linen oxford. His khakis were immaculately pressed, courtesy of her mother. He looked like a Republican state senator with the wild expression of a monster. Quinn backed away further up the stairs.

"_Quinn!" _Russell barked causing her knees to buckle, then he added in a hushed, even tone that was more frightening than any scream, "Get the fuck down here."

She swallowed hard and slowly descended the stairs.

"I told you I needed your help with something," he slurred his 's,' "I'm having a really, really hard fucking time understanding something that your mother told me."

Quinn decided to appease him in her most innocent voice, "W-what is it, daddy?"

"Mrs. Lopez called your mother about an hour ago. I guess she chaperoned the dance...?"

"_Santana's mom?" _Quinn thought to herself, and then, _"Oh no…" _

"Where's your crown, Quinn?"

"Umm, I didn't…"

"Yeah, I know. Your mother told me that some fucking _faggot_ won it over my daughter."

Quinn flinched at the word as if stricken, and felt tears well up behind her eyes, "Daddy, it wasn't my fault. Please, the kids were playing a mean joke—"

"You shut the _fuck_ up," Russell seized Quinn's wrist and spun her around, holding it behind her back and applying enough pressure so that with any sudden movement by either of them, it would snap, "Did I ask you a question?"

Quinn was paralyzed and concentrated all of her energy on choking back the vomit that was rising up her throat.

"Did I," Russell pulled up Quinn's wrist slowly, making her cry out in pain, "ask you a question?"

"No…" She willed herself not to sob her answer.

"So, when I go to work tomorrow and the partners ask me if my little girl won prom queen, I guess I'm supposed to say 'Nah, she really couldn't compete with some skirt-wearing flamer.'" Quinn heard the distant click of a closing door upstairs; Judy must have heard the commotion and tried to block out the noise.

Quinn cowered, trying to make herself as small of a target as possible, but Russell wasn't drunk enough to hit her face tonight. Instead, he twisted Quinn's delicate wrist with such force that an audible "pop" marred the quiet of the night. Black and white stars burst through Quinn's vision blinding her with a shocking pain. She bit down so hard on her bottom lip to stifle her scream, that blood spilled down her chin and she felt herself being violently thrown forward up the stairs. That warm, metallic, bittersweet red was a sure sign of loss; she'd lost this round. Still hearing his ragged breath behind him, Quinn willed herself to pad up the stairs, but as she tried to open her right hand to grip the railing and pull herself up, a sharp crack of pain from her wrist leveled her balance. She would recall later that her memory of how she made it upstairs was completely blurred. She remembered finally reaching the top step and flushing with relief only to realize that she had only escaped because he let her. It was all a game that she'd never win. At that, Quinn flew into her room, catching the door before it could slam, so as not to anger Russell into chasing her upstairs. She didn't dare lock it, lest he find out and knock the door down, so hearing her door's soft click, Quinn pressed her ear against it to ensure that Russell wasn't barreling up behind her. She didn't realize how badly her lip was bleeding until she felt a cold droplet, chilled by the night air, snake its way down her neck and stain the powder blue of her dress.

_It's ruined._

She shuffled across the floor towards her bathroom as she tried unzipping her dress with her left hand. Impatient, Quinn thrust the sleeves down, tearing one in the process and leaving the dress on a heap on her floor. She looked back at it only for a moment and was resigned to the tattered, bloodstained mess of it all.

_Fuck it. It was ugly anyway. Just like everything in this stupid fucking room._

Quinn grabbed two tiaras from her vanity and flung them against the wall, making the stones clatter against the floor.

_And this stupid house. And this whole fucking town._

She paused as she looked at her reflection in the mirror, surveying her newest battle scar's relation to her old bruise.

_It's all ugly._

She let her fingertips trace where Rachel's had only hours earlier. And for the first time she surrendered and admitted something, if only because she was too weak to fight herself:

_Everything in this world is ugly but her._


	6. Chapter 5: Full Moon Rising

**Author's Note:** If any of you have Tumblrs, my url is: .com/ … I'm always looking for like-minded Faberry shippers to follow! I'd love to hear from you if you have any comments/ideas about my story or if you want to, you know, fap with me over hot pictures of Lea Michele and Dianna Agron. Whatever works.

**OOOO**

"I'm so glad that turned out the way it did or I'd have had to start something serious with those puckheads." Mercedes flipped her hair and huffed alongside Rachel and Sam on their walk home.

"If anybody can make the best of an awful audience it's Kurt. I have to hand it to him—he's the consummate diva." Rachel smiled and looked up at the full moon spilling its light down across quiet, lonely Lima.

"I think you broke a lot of the tension with 'Dancing Queen,' Mercedes…you nailed it." Sam smiled shyly, shoving his hands into the worn out pockets of his rented tux.

"Oh, that? That wasn't just me, you know, that was full-on-ensemble-Glee, there…"

Rachel smirked up at the two blushing teenagers and purposefully slowed her pace to give them some privacy. She smiled softly, left alone with her own thoughts, and slid her hands up her bare arms to her soft shoulders.

_It's certainly a full moon tonight._

Mercedes didn't seem to notice Rachel's courtesy, turning her head to call out "Hey Rachel, why are you lagging behind? Girl, I told you those heels were trouble. There's no shame in being fun-sized."

Rachel trotted up to the pair, rolling her eyes that Mercedes couldn't take the hint. "And she said _I _had no 'game' with boys…" Rachel muttered under her breath.

"So, Sam and I were just saying…where'd you run off to when it happened? We'd all gone to find Blaine and Kurt."

"Oh, um…"

Just then, Rachel's cell phone vibrated in her purse. "Sorry," she smiled at the two politely, grateful for a minute to think, "just a sec."

She clicked on her cell phone to see a message from Jesse and she sighed, crestfallen.

"What? Jeez, repo man come for your house?" Mercedes surveyed Rachel closely.

Wincing, Mercedes turned to Sam and mouthed, "Sorry…"

"Hehe…No problem."

"He's just such a eurghhh!"

Mercedes chuckled, "Can we use our words, Rachel? And I thought you were back together with Jesse. You should be; his hair's so pretty." Mercedes nudged Sam, teasingly.

"And what do you call this?" Sam tousled his shaggy blonde hair. "This is Bieber-grade, right here."

Their flirting would have been sweet had it not been happening right now—right when Rachel's own world was falling down around her.

"My Dearest Rachel," she started to read his text message aloud.

Mercedes sighed, "Here we go…"

"…I must apologize if you were offended by my outburst tonight, but I was merely fighting back against that caveman to protect your honor."

"Oh no, no, no. I know he didn't just use that 'I'm sorry you were offended' line. That's a fake apology. You know what my grandma used to call that? A faux-pology."

Sam nodded, "Why does that dude always sound like he's just trotted in for a spot of tea from his polo match? I mean, I might speak Elfin and Na'vi sometimes, but at least you can hear me when I talk because I don't have my head up my ass."

"Samuel Evans!" Mercedes stifled her laughter and reached up to swat the boy's shoulder. "That's her boyfriend you're talking about!"

"Jesse is most certainly _not_ my boyfriend…"

Mercedes smile faded and she sidled up next to Rachel. "Look, I know you're upset about Finn and Quinn. It must be hard watching those two together, and…" Mercedes voice trailed off, "It's hard for me because I'm friends with you and I'm friends with Quinn and I know that she would never—"

"She would never what?" Rachel interrupted.

Mercedes was caught off guard by Rachel's abrupt interest. She looked into the small brunettes eyes, surprised to find only genuine curiosity. She should have known by now that Rachel was far too readable to have ulterior motives.

"What _is_ Quinn like? I mean, you know her better than I do."

Sam scoffed, "Rachel, you could grab Patches, the homeless guy off the street, and he'd know more about Quinn than Mercedes could tell you. Hell, I dated Quinn for months and I couldn't tell you the first thing about her—not really. Not anything important. She's trouble. She's a liar. So pick your battles wisely."

Rachel just wrapped her arms tighter and shivered, sorry that she'd asked.

"I thought you and Quinn made up?" Mercedes offered quietly, caught off-guard by Sam's confession.

"Ugh, yeah. We did, I just…That was out of line. She's not an awful person. I mean, yeah, there is a kindness about her when she wants to be kind. When she found out about my family's…'situation,' she was the first to step up. I guess I still feel sort of raw about our relationship, is all…"

Mercedes nodded and squeezed Sam's arm.

"I have to give that to her. She was so eager to help…and I was almost caught off-guard by it because, one Sunday, I overheard her father talking to her mother about how my parents just needed to 'pull themselves up by their bootstraps' and 'hit the pavement to find jobs.' It pissed me off so much. I was surprised to see that Quinn didn't feel the same way as her idiot father."

Rachel stayed silent, eager to hear more.

Mercedes piped up, "One thing I know about living with her for a few months is that you can't judge someone by their family…especially if their family is Russell Fabray. It doesn't surprise me that he said something like that, Sam. Quinn would never talk about her father. Whenever he came up in conversation she got that far-away look…"

Rachel concentrated on every step as she mulled over what the two had said until Mercedes snapped her out of her reverie.

"Kind of like the look you have right now, Rachel…You okay?"

"What? Yeah, I'm fine."

"Between you and me, I think Finn still loves you. I can see it in the way he looks at you."

"And what do you see when I look at him?" Rachel couldn't stop her thoughts from escaping her lips.

Mercedes furrowed her brow in confusion, "I mean, you should know how you feel, Rachel."

"Yeah, of course. Silly. I was just being silly."

"If you want me to be honest with you…I can see your heartbreak whenever you look at the two of them together."

Rachel could turn on fake tears at will, but she cursed herself for not being able to turn off real ones.

"So, this is me," Rachel choked back tears as she slowly backed down her street from the main road, "Bye guys."

Mercedes sighed when she noticed the tears sliding town the tiny brunettes face, "Hey…hey now with that." She hugged Rachel tightly and let the smaller girl sob into her shoulder.

Sam frowned and looked away sadly, "Rachel, if Finn can't realize what a great girl you are, then he's even dumber than he looks."

Mercedes stared daggers over her shoulder at Sam, "_Not_ helping, trouty mouth. I'm telling you, you never send a man in to do a woman's job." She patted Rachel's back.

With that, Rachel giggled against Mercedes' shoulder, her eyes sparkling at Sam.

"Thanks guys…you're the best prom dates ever." Rachel sniffled.

Sam nodded before adding, "Yeah, you girls are the best, too…and hey, if anybody asks, do you think it'd be okay to tell people that all three of us went to a motel room and got our Ménage-a-trois on tonight? I may have already spread a preemptive rumor about it in the locker room this morning…"

Without skipping a beat, Mercedes turned to Rachel, "Hey Rach, do you think it'd be okay if you provided an alibi for me when the cops find this clown in the middle of the road with a size seven heel through his forehead tomorrow?"

"Anything for you, lady." Rachel giggled through fresh tears, and kissed Mercedes' cheek.

"And you," Rachel wagged her finger at Sam, "I'm watching you, Bieber-fish."

Sam stumbled back in mock-hurt as Mercedes goaded him along the quiet road, "C'mon Bieber-fish. It's a Thursday and we have school tomorrow."

**OOOO**

Rachel did take comfort in her friends. All her life, she had never known what having real friends was like until she found Glee Club. Sure, they still thought she was bossy and overbearing sometimes, but they never begrudged her a little spotlight and seemed to love her for who she was.

She ran her hands up and down her arms again, ruing the ever-cold Ohio nights. She could see her house in the distance, but decided to take her time, reflecting on the night and avoiding her cheerful fathers' questions for as long as possible. As her fingers slid their way from her elbows to her shoulders, she started to wonder what they'd feel like if they were longer and delicate. She traced her collar bones with her finger tips and shuddered when they dipped into the nape of her neck. If it weren't for the lights flicking on in front of her, Rachel would have tripped onto the sidewalk.

She couldn't help but smile as she heard her fathers talk excitedly behind their front door from all the way across the lawn. The Berry men certainly taught their daughter how to project.

Before Rachel could even make it up the steps, LeRoy Berry flung open the door and barreled out with the smaller Berry man, Hiram, trailing close behind.

"How's my dancin' diva fresh off her renowned international world tour entitled "_Junior Prom?" _Hiram struck a pose as LeRoy rolled his eyes and wrapped his arms around his little girl.

"Would you cool it with the questions, Hiram? The girl's probably beat." LeRoy kissed Rachel's temple and slid the hair tie down her pony tail, mussing it up. At an imposing 6'3, LeRoy had rich brown skin and kind eyes. Rachel called him her "gentle giant." And his strength belied a deep intelligence that made him a successful, if mild-mannered accountant.

Hiram huffed at his husband, impatiently, "Well, excuse me for wanting to know the drama. What else is high school? It's an elaborate play. Complete with wardrobe closets and costume beards, at least for me." He winked at his laughing daughter, then grabbed her by the hand, leading her inside.

When inside, Hiram sat on a plush, imperial-looking armchair and steepled his fingers, waiting for the dirt with a smirk on his face. The Berry men were a picture in contrast. Where LeRoy was reserved, polite, and unassuming, Hiram reveled in the dramatic and had a knack for bringing his audience to their knees (he always like to add "literally" with a wink) using his caustic wit. This made him a natural salesman and he stayed Lima's number one real estate agent even through the economic downturn.

Rachel loved her fathers, but she dreaded having to explain away a night in which even she didn't quite understand what happened. Steeling herself, for their questions, she almost winced when she sat on the couch.

Hiram immediately started in on his daughter, "So, first of all, what would you say was the night's worst fashion-don't?"

Hiram may be more adept at talking to people, but LeRoy could always read people better, especially their daughter, "You know, honey, I think our little star just wants to go to bed—"

"Yeah, but LeRoy, I didn't even get to hear if somebody spiked the punch bowl! Were kids falling down drunk because of it? _Are you drunk?_ If not, why not, Rachy? You only live once!"

Rachel chuckled at Hiram's excited stream-of-consciousness questioning.

"Not under my roof, Mr." LeRoy warned his husband sternly.

"Sorry, mom…" Hiram huffed as he brought a full glass of Merlot to his lips. He smiled over the brim at Rachel and winked at her.

"You two are too much…" Rachel yawned. Even she could find humor in the fact that the only place she could ever be upstaged or talked-over was in her own living room.

Rachel practically fell up the stairs, she was so exhausted. It wasn't until she reached the quiet sanctuary of her bedroom that her mind wandered back to her evening. Sitting down at her vanity, she mulled over what had happened to her in the auditorium, on the streets of Lima, and especially in the bathroom with a certain blonde whom she never thought she'd get along with.

_Her slapping you and then storming away from you into the night isn't exactly "getting along" now, is it?_

_But there wasn't just that. What about the in-between?_

Rachel stood up to slide her dress down her firm, petite body, cocking her head to rake over the flare of her hips and down to the curve of her thighs. She smiled in secret when she thought about the in-between.

_How, so tenderly, she let me touch her face—that gorgeous face. _

Rachel's eyes fluttered and she felt her own face flush.

_Not just that, but when I did, she leaned into my hand…Like she needed me to hold her. She was so _vulnerable…_As vulnerable as someone who's…_

Rachel unhooked her bra and slid her panties down to her ankles…

_Naked._

She surveyed her own reflection in the mirror, her curves amplified by the full moonlight. Rachel was self-aware enough to know that whenever she wanted something, she wanted it with her whole heart—she always wanted things too much. So, this must be what it feels like to want some_one_ like that…

Her aching bones were shaken by the weight of what she'd just allowed herself to realize. She didn't have the strength to fight it. So instead of taking a pair of her flannel pajamas from the dresser drawer, she collapsed into bed, letting the cool linen of the sheets wrap around her bare body.

That night, for the first time in her life, Rachel Berry slept naked, but not before grabbing a pillow to wrap her arms around.


	7. Chapter 6: Push and Pull

_There are twenty seven bones in the human hand._

"Twenty seven." Quinn remembered from anatomy class, as she painfully swiveled the joint. Russel had twisted Quinn's wrist with such force that it made her entire hand balloon up, thick with blood and heat. She studied her swollen wrist through a lens of detached, grotesque fascination. That was the only way she knew how to deal with this life any more.

She saw everything clinically, divorced from feeling, divorced from the obligation to care about herself as if she were more than an interesting case study. Her father wasn't a hateful bastard. He was an apathetic sociopath suffering from narcissistic personality disorder. He didn't choose to drink at the expense of his wife and daughters. He had developed an alcohol addiction because of overactive neurotransmitters that released endorphins which made him forget what a hateful bastard he was.

And, for the record, Quinn wasn't falling apart. She was surviving.

Quinn laughed ruefully when she thought of how everyone saw her as a dumb blonde.

_Right. If I were dumb, I wouldn't be alive right now. _

It was five o'clock in the morning when Quinn woke up to ponder the wonders of the human anatomy, the dismal science of psychology, and, only occasionally, the way Rachel slammed her eyes shut when she hit the high notes.

The sky outside slowly turned to a color lighter than black as she meticulously laid out her outfit for the day.

Blue sundress. Long enough to cover everything. Short enough to keep them interested. She smiled at the old saying, ignoring the throbbing pain of her wrist when she flipped her dress over to pull it over her head.

Sandals, but with heels.

_I want them to hear me coming. _

Quinn walked over to her vanity only to watch her veneer crumble. She had really torn into her bottom lip. So hard, in fact, that she appeared as if she'd been punched in the mouth. She shuddered as she stared down at her swollen hand in the mirror. It was throbbing so badly that it looked and felt as though it had a pulse of its own. She fought back tears as she quietly slid open her dresser drawer to slip a white, cashmere cardigan over her shoulders. At least then she could pull her sleeve down over it.

She sat down on the regal, high-backed vanity chair and carefully applied her makeup, layer by layer to cover the faded black bruise under her eye. Then she opted to try painting her lips with red lipstick. She knew it was too severe for her outfit. She also knew that if her father saw her wearing a shade that vibrant, he'd call her a whore.

_But I have to do something to cover this up._

The moment Quinn applied the slightest pressure, her lips split open again and blood dribbled down her chin.

Cursing the God her parents worshipped, she staggered into the bathroom and held gauze against her wound until it stopped bleeding.

_Whatever. If anyone asks, I tripped and bit down. It's not even that much of a lie._

"Quinny!"

She launched herself across her bedroom, almost falling over after her foot tangled in her ripped heap of a prom dress.

"Breakfast is ready!"

Quinn opened the door, determined to make her gaze as lifeless and unforgiving as possible, "Thanks."

If Judy Fabray noticed her daughter's scorn, she never betrayed it, "Your favorite! Fat-free blueberry pancakes!"

Quinn held her textbooks tightly to her chest as she descended the stairs. When she reached the bottom step, she saw her clutch purse and her high heels from the previous night standing neatly in a pile on a side table. She had forgotten how he'd ripped them from her hands.

"Quinn honey, I shouldn't have to tell you to not leave your things strewn about the house. Please put those in your room."

"Right." Quinn was about to take the last step when something just under her foot stopped her. The corsage.

As she dusted the mantle, Judy watched, from the corner of her eye, as her daughter reached down to cradle the large blossom in her hand.

"Gardenia."

"What?" Quinn flattened out its crumpled petals. Another piece of evidence that what happened last night wasn't a dream.

"The flower that Finn gave you is a Gardenia."

"Oh." Quinn held onto it gently and returned upstairs. She tossed her shoes and purse on the floor with her dress before walking over to the trash basket. Just as she was about to let the gardenia fall from her fingertips, she caught it. She flipped it over to admire the light green ribbon, stroking her thumb across the soft silk. Quinn smiled sadly and walked over to vanity, placing it down delicately next to her small picture of Finn.

"Quinny! They're getting cold!"

**OOOO**

Had she been her typical self that morning, Rachel would have been the only William McKinley High student to look alert and alive. Everyone was hung over and battle-wounded from the night before. Of course, Principal Figgins and Sue had plotted to hold the junior prom on a Thursday night to prevent students from hosting wild after parties. However, when they arrived to school that Friday morning, they had to grudgingly deem their plan a failure by the sheer number of students who were either catatonic, sunglass-wearing zombies or had fallen asleep with their faces hovering a few inches over the toilet bowls. Rachel walked by the two adults arguing and couldn't help but smile through her exhaustion.

"Sue! All you were doing the whole night was interrogating that disabled boy and telling grinding teenage couples to 'Make room for the holy spirit!' Now, you know how I feel about public displays of wanton lust, but I was counting on you to make sure the kids weren't drinking, too!"

"Well, what do you think I was doing near the punch bowl? And if you'd have installed those breathalyzer tests at the gymnasium doors like I told you, your shoes might not be covered in freshman vomit right now. We could have used some extra security, too!"

"Sue, I was not going to hire the Hell's Angels to be bouncers at a high school junior prom…"

Rachel rolled her eyes as she squeezed between Sue and Figgins to get to her locker. She yawned and ran her hand through her long, dark hair, tousling it and reaching up on her tip-toes to stretch. Certainly, she had had a sleepless night, as well, but not for the same reasons as the stumbling students around her. She looked into the mirror in her locker and allowed herself a private smile as she slid vanilla chapstick over her lips. And then… Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

_Quinn._

Sure enough, when Rachel turned to greet the unmistakable sounds of high-heels on long legs, she saw none other than Quinn Fabray sauntering confidently down the hallway. Her long blonde hair was feathered and flowing in lose curls over her shoulders. Her dress was just short enough to show off her sunkissed legs. Rachel pondered to herself how someone could get markedly more beautiful with each passing day, as she saw throngs of students push up to the lockers just to let her by, untouched. The noise in the hallway even hushed to a dull roar whenever she'd pass by, no easy feat for McKinley.

Quinn walked by Rachel without acknowledging her at all until the absolute last second. Sensing those shining dark eyes on her back, she turned her head and nodded a small smile to Rachel.

At the small gesture, Rachel felt her chest fill up with sunlight and beamed back. She cocked her head when she noticed what looked like a deep cut on Quinn's lip, but even that couldn't mar her beauty. Because today was Friday, Rachel had Spanish first period. She tugged at the hem of her sweater and smoothed down her plaid skirt. Spanish with Quinn.

Rachel silently thanked God that her beloved, dorky Mr. Schuester assigned class seats by first name alphabetical order. She got to sit behind Quinn. This, of course, meant that she also had to sit in front of Santana who, while making progress towards becoming a tolerable human being, still delighted in whispering Yentl jokes in her ear. Brittany sat behind Santana because she didn't understand the concept of alphabetical order and Mr. Schuester was disinclined to explain it to her for the third time.

The bell rang and Rachel scurried through the door, smiling brightly at Mr. Schuester and her friends from Glee. Quinn concentrated hard on tracing over words she had already written in her planner, as Rachel walked by her to sit down.

Rachel studied Quinn from behind, how she curled her long tendrils around her fingers absentmindedly. How she crossed her legs off to the side of the desk. When she noticed Quinn's body start to swivel around towards her, Rachel panicked and stared down at the desk as if she were reading something. Her hands were planted firmly on either sides of the desk and she was staring down intensely into the wood grain which made for a bizarre image.

Quinn cocked her eyebrow and smiled softly, "Hey Rachel."

"Hm?" Rachel looked up as if she hadn't noticed Quinn was in the room, when in fact, it was all she could think about, "Oh, hey! How you doing, girlfriend?"

_Stupid. _Rachel's failed attempt at comfortable familiarity made Quinn break out into a genuine smile, "Um, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry I snapped at you last night…I was kind of in a…funk."

"What? Oh! Right. No problem." Rachel tossed her hair back, feigning casualty but she was again caught off-guard by Quinn's busted lip, "Ouch. What'd you get that from?" Without thinking, Rachel leaned forward in curiosity and placed her thumb at the corner of Quinn's mouth.

Quinn's expression darkened as she pulled away from Rachel's touch, her eyes darting around the room.

"Sorry…" Rachel laughed nervously, "Habit."

Quinn smiled evenly, a frost overtaking her pretty features, "I left my cell phone in my car this morning. I was in such a rush, that when I got it, I slammed my wrist in my car door and bit my lip."

Rachel was aghast and looked down at Quinn's hands, noticing the right was so swollen that it was noticeably larger than her left. She lowered her head to peer closer at Quinn's injury.

Self conscious, Quinn slid her hands into her lap and tugged at her sleeves, "It's fine." She turned her body back in her seat when she saw Mr. Schuester walk to the front of the class.

"Clase!" Mr. Schue boomed over the half of his class that bothered to show up today, "Today, we're going to put our heads together and do a little group work. If your groups can finish your worksheets before class ends, then you won't have any homework!"

Rachel sat up a little straighter in her seat, peering over Quinn's shoulder into her lap.

"Okay, we're going to do this by rows—four or five people to a group. First row: Quinn, Rachel, Santana, and Brittany…"

Rachel could have sworn that she saw a small smile quirk up the corners of Quinn's lips, "But," she reasoned silently, "It's probably just because she gets to work with her two lieutenants."

Mr. Schuester passed out worksheets on verb conjugation and chirped, "Okay guys, I want you all to push your desks together and get to work! I want to hear a lot of discussion going on 'en espanol,' of course."

Quinn stood up to try and push her desk but flinched in pain when she pressed her hand to its edge.

"Here, I can help you with that." Rachel practically pushed Quinn out of the way to lift up her desk in one motion and plunk it down loudly next to her own.

"Damn, Rachel. You're pretty strong." Quinn's eyebrows shot up behind her bangs.

"Yeah, you know." Rachel blushed and began rambling in her nervous teleprompter voice, "In addition to my morning elliptical cardio routine, I feel as though strength training is an essential element to any burgeoning starlet's routine. I mean, you can't give good jazz hands with flabby arms."

Brittany pushed her desk against the front of Rachel's and Santana sighed heavily as she slid hers in front of Quinn's, "Listen Rachel, you can be open about the fact that you're secretly the bearded lady-man, you just started shaving."

Quinn's eyes narrowed, "Shut _up_, Santana. God, I'm really not in the mood to deal with you today if you're already in full-blown bitch mode."

"Wow, take a _joke_, Quinn. We both lost prom queen to Clay Aiken last night." Santana looked at Quinn's lip suspiciously, "And you look like you hit the bottle last night and it hit you back in the face."

Rachel balled her hands into fists, but she was deterred from speaking up by Quinn's patience.

"Ugh, whatever…let's just get started on this, okay?"

The girls worked in almost complete silence for twenty minutes. That is, Rachel and Quinn worked. Santana and Brittany were tapping their feet together and leaning into each other, whispering coyly. The two girls mooning over one another certainly didn't make Rachel feel any more comfortable sitting in such close proximity to Quinn. Every once in a while, Rachel would check her answers with Quinn, but Quinn would never start a conversation.

Eventually, Quinn rolled her eyes, her patience wearing thin, "I guess you don't really have any work to do at all, huh, S?"

"What?" Santana turned towards Quinn, harassed.

Quinn leaned forward, "Aren't you, like…Hispanic? I mean, don't you speak Spanish."

"Damn right I speak Spanish, puta. I just pretend I don't so I can get an easy A." Santana leaned back and stretched her arms behind her head cockily.

"And you've never been called out on it?"

"Yeah, Figgins played that game with me once but I told him I'd sue the school for being racist. They shouldn't just assume I speak Spanish because I'm Hispanic.

"But…" Rachel ventured slowly, "You _do_ speak Spanish—"

"Details!" Santana opened her palm in Rachel's face impatiently to change the subject.

Brittany looked lost in thought before remarking, "I speak the language of the trees."

The other three girls exchanged awkward glances as Brittany continued.

"I can also tell if my dishwasher's sick by the noises it makes."

"Britt, what did you get for question four?" Quinn leaned over to look at the girl's paper. On the answer line that should have had read "me trabajo" was a doodled turtle with what looked like a rocket ship strapped to its back.

"Words are boring," Brittany tossed her hair back, "And I feel as though they stifle my creativity."

Rachel couldn't help but giggle and Santana smiled as she thought quietly to herself, "Britt-Britt might be a weirdo, but she's my weirdo."

"Can we honestly get to work? I'd like to finish this worksheet before the bell rings so I don't have to do it for homework." Quinn sighed impatiently.

It took Santana about thirty seconds to scribble down all the answers. Then, she pointed down to her finished paper, "Bam. Suck on that."

"Congratulations on being able to do basic grammatical exercises in your first language."

At Quinn's snipe, Rachel couldn't stifle her loud laughter and leaned into Quinn's space, which made Quinn both flush with excitement and freeze.

Santana narrowed her eyes. She may have been a reformed mean girl, but she could still play that game like no other, "Is that legitimately a sparkly gold pom-pom on your sweater, Rachel? For real, though?"

"It's…it's cute. The pom-pom's supposed to be the little nametag on the cat's collar."

Santana rolled her eyes, sneering.

Brittany leaned forward to poke the decoration on Rachel's chest, much to the girl's alarm.

"Wow, could you both knock it off? Jesus." Quinn thrust Brittany's hand away and stood up, imposingly, between her two former henchmen and the small brunette. The class discussions around them slowly died down; Quinn damn well knew how to make a scene.

Rachel, on the other hand, couldn't move an inch; she just watched in awe as Quinn bore down on Santana and Brittany with a withering stare. After processing the scene, Rachel allowed herself to feel a warm rush in the pit of her stomach that seemed to lift her up straighter in her seat. Her heart swelled, brimming with hope in…she didn't quite know what, yet.

_Is Quinn…defending me?_

Brittany looked terrified, but Santana's mouth quirked up into an almost hungry smile as she started to stand up. The ex-cheerios had all being getting along well lately, but the tension between them, especially between Santana and Quinn, always bubbled just beneath the surface.

"I'm 'bout to _pop_ Barbie's head off." Santana enunciated every syllable as she walked around her desk to meet Quinn's glare.

Mr. Schuester sighed when he noticed the scuffle between the four girls. He should have known that group would be volatile sharing the same space. Rolling up his sleeves literally and figuratively, he walked over to calm the situation, "Quinn, is there a problem?"

By then, the entire class had fallen silent and all eyes were trained on the girls. Because they were in the back row behind the group of desks, no one seemed to notice that Rachel had impulsively grabbed the hem of Quinn's dress—no one, that is, except Rachel and Quinn. Rachel was shocked at the instinctive way in which she grabbed onto Quinn in the heat of the moment, even if it were subtle. Her hold wasn't tugging Quinn down, it stayed put, as if letting Quinn know: "I'm here for you. Thank you for being there for me."

The instant that Quinn felt Rachel's small hand grip her dress, a rush of joyful adrenaline surged through her and she let herself steal a brief glance at Rachel's pretty face—grateful, shy, almost giddy. Feeling Rachel's knuckles slid against the bare skin just above her knee electrified every nerve-ending in Quinn's body.

Protecting Rachel made Quinn feel powerful, and even though she didn't know why yet, she let herself revel in the rush of emotions as she arched her eyebrow higher, challenging Santana.

Kurt and Mercedes both turned their desks in the direction of what they both knew would make the high school cat fight hall of fame. He snapped his Chanel compact mirror shut and leaned to whisper in Mercedes' ear: "Twenty bucks on Quinn. Nobody's fiercer than an underfed WASP."

"Psh, please. I'm taking Santana on this one; those Lima Heights bitches don't play."

Mr. Schuester repeated himself, "Quinn, what's going on?" His raised voice snapped her out of her reverie, and all at once, she was overwhelmed by how many people were watching her, whispering about her, and, she thought, judging her. Quinn yanked her dress to the side, abruptly ripping it from Rachel's grip.

"Nothing. Everything's fine except nobody can seem to focus on anything but Rachel's _stupid_ sweater." Quinn huffed and sat back down in her seat as several people around her snickered.

When Quinn looked briefly to her left, she immediately wished she could take it back; she had seen Rachel flinch from the corner of her eye, as if she'd been stricken. Her shoulders slumped forward, and the blonde could see her wrap her arms around her chest tightly, covering her sweater. No matter how hard Quinn willed the guilt away, it tore her raw when she saw those good-natured brown eyes water.

Mr. Schuester was about to interject when the bell sounded and students almost knocked him down to reach the sweet reprieve of the open door. Even the other glee kids all bolted; they liked their drama by proxy, not in high-def.

"Girls…just…cool it, okay? We're coming up on Nationals and I need my whole gang together!"

"Well, holy hell, why is everyone so sensitive all of a sudden? I was _just _kidding." Santana threw her hands up at Mr. Schuester. "I mean, so Rachel dresses like a hot toddler. You dress like the guy with the balloon house from _Up_. I'm not judging, I'm just saying." And with that, Santana stormed out of the room.

Brittany, who had long since lost interest in the scuffle, was still drawing her homework at her desk when Mr. Schuester took Rachel aside and gave her an earnest pep-talk about her obligations as club captain to keep the Glee Club stable going into Nationals. Rachel listened intently to his advice until she noticed something in the corner of her eye. Quinn had walked to the front of the classroom where Finn had been silently watching the argument the entire time. Rachel darted her eyes from Mr. Schuester to the couple, desperate to both feign interest in Mr. Schue's advice while keeping an eye on Finn and Quinn. Her heart started to pound relentlessly when she saw Finn slide his hand around Quinn's waist and lean down to kiss her. What Rachel may not have realized was that, when the couple's lips connected briefly, they were both still covertly looking over at Rachel making the kiss profoundly uncomfortable for all three of them.

"…As club captain, your biggest obligation is to foster the talent of those around you while—"

"I understand, Mr. Schue." Rachel nodded eagerly, hoping to appease him enough so they'd he'd leave—hoping they'd all leave so she could finally collapse. She felt her sinuses burn and tears well up behind her eyes as she beamed brightly at a departing Mr. Schuester. The next instant, Finn was walking towards the door and neither he nor Rachel could bring themselves to make eye contact with one another; instead, they both nodded at the floor.

"Finn."

"Hey Rach."

When Rachel did look up, she locked eyes with Quinn from across the room. Rachel's resolve to be angry faltered when she noticed how pained Quinn's expression was. Her eyes seemed to be watering, too, as if Quinn were pleading with her. But, Rachel shook off her compassion and reasoned, Quinn had nothing to be sad about.

_She was probably flaunting her relationship with him in my face because she knows how much it hurts me._

Rachel was awoken from her thoughts when Brittany started to pack up her things.

"Hey Rachel, I really do like your sweater. In fact, I was going to ask if you could knit one with Lord Tubbington on it for me. I can give you the yarn! I think you'll need like five balls of it, though, because," Brittany leaned forward and whispered, after making sure no one was in earshot, "Lord Tubbington's kind of fat."

Rachel smiled tightly and nodded, only slightly taken aback—it was Brittany, after all.

Out of nowhere, Santana stuck her head back in the classroom, "_Britters_! I needs ta gets my tan on. Let's go."

"But we have geometry in, like, five minutes."

Santana looked scandalized, "Brittany, look at us. Girls as hot as us don't need to know math." She bound over to Brittany and slapped her ass playfully, "Now, c'mon!"

As Santana dragged Brittany out into the hallway, Brittany shot back over her shoulder, "Also, do you think you could knit a sweater for Lord Tubbington with me on it?"

Before Rachel could respond, the girls had gone and she was alone with Quinn. Rachel busied herself by zipping and unzipping the pockets of her backpack and shifting things in and out of them. Quinn finally walked back to her desk, almost tip-toeing to make the least amount of noise possible. But even when she walked softly—Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Quinn looked down at Rachel nervously, but felt compelled not to leave. They were both waiting for something.

"Rachel…"

But Rachel only pursed her lips tightly and rezipped her backpack loudly. She tossed her long dark tresses huffily over her shoulders for dramatic effect. _Do it with Flourish_, Hiram had always emphasized.

Just then, Quinn was rocked by the scent of coconut oil and what smelled like honey drifting from Rachel's hair. It was warm, sweet and inviting. _Just like her_, Quinn thought.

Faltering slightly, but not deterred, Quinn leaned down so she was at eye level with Rachel, kneeling on the floor, "Hey Rach." Quinn hesitated before resting her swollen, black and blue hand over Rachel's which made every wall Rachel had put up crumble at their feet.

"I just wanted to—"

To keep herself from crying, Rachel refocused her energy, "You need to go to the nurse for that wrist right now." Rachel gently held Quinn's hand in hers, which made Quinn wince.

"It's fine. I—"

"No, it's not. Your entire hand is swollen and bruised, and if you don't put some ice on it, then the swelling could be permanent." Rachel choked out the last part bitterly, "And you wouldn't want _man-hands, _would you?"

Quinn's heart sank at the stab and she felt another wave of guilt crash over her.

_She must hate me. She must really fucking hate me. She'd be completely justified, too_.

"Please, I didn't mean those insults—"

"You mean you _don't_ mean them…? They're not exactly past tense."

Quinn couldn't bear to look up at Rachel, she only stared down at her hand which was, curiously, still cupped in Rachel's.

"Why would you kiss him like that in front of me? How could you do that to me?"

Quinn tried desperately to read Rachel's pain, but her pessimism made her jump to a sad conclusion.

_Finn. Of course, this was about him; it's always about Finn with Rachel._

"I'm pretty sure that I can kiss my boyfriend wherever I damn well please." Quinn pulled away from Rachel abruptly and stood up, "Jesus, Rachel. When are you going to get over it? He's with me."

Rachel stood up and nodded resolutely, "Fine. Let's go."

"Go where?"

"To the nurse. I know that if I leave you, you won't go," Rachel paused and collected herself, "You don't take care of yourself like you should, Quinn. Maybe it's because you're too busy trying to hurt other people."

"You don't know anything about me."

"I don't think anyone does. Finn sure as hell doesn't. Sometimes, I don't even think you do."

Quinn straightened her shoulders; in heels, she towered over Rachel, but Rachel refused to wilt under her gaze. The petite brunette stared gamely up at Quinn with her hands firmly on her hips. Just then, it occurred to Quinn that Rachel may be the only person in the entire school who wasn't even a little bit afraid of her. Realizing her defeat, all of the air deflated from Quinn's chest and she turned to collect her things. Rachel could see her hand shake unsteadily as she slid it under her mountain of heavy textbooks, so she wordlessly took them from Quinn.

Before Quinn could open her mouth to object Rachel asserted, "I don't want to hear it. Let's go."

Quinn was taken aback by Rachel's obstinate refusal to let her get her way.

"Fine."

Rachel masked her pleasant surprise well as Quinn followed her down the hallway. The blonde dragged her feet, sullenly, striding a few feet behind Rachel. She didn't want to think about what Karofsky and Azimio would do if they saw Rachel carrying her textbooks for her, she reasoned. But there was a more covert reason for Quinn to walk slower than the small brunette. Seeing no one around her, Quinn allowed her eyes to travel up and down the girl's petite frame. Santana was right; her sweater was ridiculous-looking, but it hugged her every curve and lead down to her skirt which was, Quinn thought, mercilessly short…

_What is _wrong _with me?_

"What's _wrong _with you?" Rachel spun around to a wide-eyed Quinn, making both of them come screeching to a halt, "I'm pretty sure everyone's in class so it's not like anyone will see us together—don't worry."

Quinn swallowed hard and continued to walk towards the nurse's office, making Rachel follow, "Umm…hey, aren't _you_ supposed to be in class?"

"No, I have study hall second period."

Quinn furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, "Wait, you do? I do, too. I haven't seen you there all year."

"Mr. Schue lets me stay in the choir room. He gave me a spare set of keys."

"Well, I mean, you could always sit with me if you don't know anyone in our study hall."

"It's not that, Quinn. Jeez, you must really think I'm a loser; I _do_ have friends."

"Rach, you know that's not what I meant, I just—"

"I feel like…I'm at home, there. That's all. I can concentrate better there than in any library."

Quinn nodded thoughtfully, "You're lucky…"

Uncharacteristically, Rachel stayed silent and waited for Quinn to go on.

"You have something that you love so much…and you're so good at it."

Rachel allowed herself a small smile before looking up into the intensity of Quinn's green eyes, "Sam's right."

"Hm?"

"You can be incredibly kind when you want to be."

Quinn surrendered a small smile, bowed her head in thanks, and strode forward to open the door of the nurse's office for Rachel.

_Her smile is so disarming; I can't._

"Girls, how can I help you?" A portly, elderly women shuffled up to the two girls.

"Two vitamin C pills, please." Quinn muttered under her breath to make Rachel giggle.

"I think Quinn here has a bruised wrist."

The nurse looked puzzled, "Alright, dear." She turned to Quinn suspiciously, "Is there any particular reason you couldn't come in by yourself? Is it that bad?"

Quinn shone her best placating smile, "Well, Nurse DeCosta, Rachel was just helping me carry my books." The blonde slid down onto the medical bed and carefully steadied her breath as Rachel sidled up next to her, crossing her ankles and swinging her legs, shyly.

"Yeah, we both have study hall so we're not missing class or anything."

"Well, isn't that nice of you to help your friend!" The nurse absent-mindedly rummaged through the freezer for an icepack and tut-tutted about how "A friend, in need, is a friend indeed."

Both girls stared off into opposite directions. Neither of them knew what they were, but they certainly weren't friends.

"Okay, Miss Quinn, let's see what we have here." The nurse wheeled over her chair to inspect Quinn's injury.

Quinn nervously rolled up the sleeve of her cashmere sweater and extended her arm, "I wasn't paying attention when I was getting my backpack out of my car this morning and I slammed it in the door."

The nurse nodded and put on large-rimmed glasses that magnified her eyes twofold, making the girls share a smirk. She inspected Quinn's wrist thoughtfully, then knitted her brow, "Huh…that's odd."

"What? It's not broken, is it?" Quinn's eyes widened and Rachel looked on, curiously.

"No…But given the location of the swelling, right here on your carpal ligaments, and your limited range of motion, your wrist looks like it's been twisted the wrong way, not crushed."

"Well, that's…that's just…"

Quinn's mind was so inundated with untruths that she couldn't pick one and hold fast to it—especially in front of _her_. There was something about Rachel that made her too vulnerable to lie. And usually, the lies came so easily to Quinn; they came easier every time. It had never mattered before if she'd amended her story, because nobody ever bothered to ask questions more than once, and no one in her life cared enough to press her.

"I don't know! I'm not like, a doctor, I'm just telling you what happened. Maybe I slammed it in the door at a weird angle. Whatever. Can I just have some ice?"

Both Rachel and the nurse were taken aback by Quinn's sudden outburst. Quinn noticed immediately and elected to turn her charm on, "Gosh, I'm really sorry, Nurse DeCosta…I'm just in a lot of pain right now." Her voice was silky smooth and her eyes, plaintive and demure.

The nurse's face softened and she gently packed ice around Quinn's wrist with athletic tape and gauze. Rachel, however, grew even more suspicious.

"I'm just so tired," Quinn continued to lay it on thick causing the nurse to fuss over her, "I couldn't sleep last night, it hurt so badly."

Rachel, never one to hide her feelings, wore her shock like a beacon.

_Last _night_? Didn't she just say she slammed it in the car door this morning?_

The nurse continued her tender wrapping, humming blissfully to herself which soothed Quinn's nerves until she caught Rachel's expression—confusion, concern, horror; Rachel looked mortified. Quinn raised her eyebrow in a question, and then—

_Shit._

"Quinn—" Rachel breathed, barely a whisper.

"Don't."

Quinn yanked her hand roughly away from a bewildered nurse and stammered, "I can finish wrapping the rest. I have to get to class."

She was already halfway out the door, Rachel in tow, when the nurse called out: "Well, at least have your friend help you, dear."

Quinn muttered, loud enough for Rachel to hear, "She is _not_ my friend." Never had Rachel damned having short legs so much as when she desperately tried to keep up with Quinn's long strides down the hallway.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

"Quinn, wait—"

At that, Quinn turned on her heel and glared down at Rachel with such intensity, the smaller girl flinched and stumbled backwards, her cheek still stinging with the residual pain of last night.

"How many times have I had to tell you to stay out of my business? Leave me alone. Leave my boyfriend alone. Just_ leave_."

As if it were punctuation to Quinn's sentiment, the bell rang. Students flooded the corridors, all desperate to be one class closer to finishing the day. Quinn used the bustling hallway as a means of escape, spinning around to tear down the hallway.

Still frozen in shock, Rachel could only watch as the seas parted for Quinn, like they always did. Seconds later, she felt herself being bombarded with the elbows and backpacks of careless students, like she always was.

_But something's different. And, certainly, not all is right with the world of Quinn Fabray._

**OOOO**

As they were arguing, both girls were too distracted to notice the usually unmistakable form of Finn Hudson watching them over the crowd. He, like everyone else in the hallway, could only decipher what Quinn had roared at Rachel; she seemed so angry lately. He was both afraid for and afraid of her. If she spit enough venom, she'd find herself alone and lonely.

Rachel turned to busy herself in her locker and Finn could see fresh tears spill down her face.

_God, Quinn can be so cruel. Girls like Rachel can't help their feelings_._ If Rachel could choose not to be in love with me, she would. But not everyone's a robot like Quinn._

Just as Finn was about to walk over and comfort Rachel, he felt a hand on the scruff of his neck jerk him sideways. Coach Sylvester. Of course.

"Hey Jolly Green, I saw you on the attendance roster for the gym class I'm subbing for. You don't want to be late for that. Maybe you could burn off some of that cankle weight so you could drag your feet a few yards without getting tackled next season."

Before Finn was begrudgingly shoved into the gym, he stole one last look at a shaking Rachel. He knew what he had to do. How he would break it to Quinn was another story.


	8. Chapter 7: Adrift

**Author's Note:**This chapter includes a couple of scenes from episode 21 of season 2 entitled "Funeral." Therefore, much of the dialogue in those scenes belongs to the Glee writers. Other than that, I've just taken the themes and events of the episode and given them a Faberry twist.

**OOOO**

Weekends in Lima, Ohio were always uneventful. And on the weekend after their junior prom, this held especially true for Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray. Both girls stayed holed up in their respective bedrooms—pacing, sitting, standing, waiting. That is, until Sunday.

**OOOO**

"The Bible tells us that we are not only to not _abide_ that kind of villainy, but that we, as Christians, are to take up _arms _against it! Ephesians, chapter six, verse eleven tells us to 'put on the full armor of God, so that we can take a stand against the devil's schemes.'"

Reverend Calhoun's nostrils flared as he stomped like a minotaur up and down the length of the stage. Every once and a while, he would pause at the pulpit to slam his first down on the open Bible.

"Ironic," Quinn thought, before Sam turned around a few pews in front of her to shoot her a sympathetic, exasperated eye-roll.

"Now, I want you to listen to me very carefully, folks—"

The reverend had officiated at Russell and Judy's wedding ceremony and had baptized both of their daughters. Quinn remembered, vaguely, the scent of his sour cologne and sweat as he'd poured water over her head. Everyone knew Reverend Calhoun, the white-haired snake, had a taste for young women. Even Russell had the foresight to usher his daughters away from him at church functions.

"—We live," he paused dramatically to be sure all the congregants would hear him, then hissed in a low voice, "in a fallen world. Well, just the other day I saw something on the FOX News about gays marrying up in New York City…Can you believe this?"

The reverend nodded his head at the disapproving mutters and gasps emanating from the audience, "You heard right. Now, I'm only saying this because I know I'm among fellow brothers and sisters in Christ here," he leaned forward across the pulpit conspiratorially, "but when those queers are parading around _marrying_ one another, it seems to me like an irrefutable indication of the endtimes."

Quinn felt as though the hot spotlights from the stage had crept down the aisles and were now trained on her. She could hear her own heart pound so hard that it made her ears stop up.

_Breathe._

Clicking his teeth, Russell leaned back in the pew and scoffed, "There won't be enough room in hell for them all, I can tell you that." Several churchgoers around them chuckled and nodded at Russell's derision. Quinn wondered idly as she cradled her sprained wrist how many of them would think her father such an upstanding pillar of the community if they really knew what he was like behind closed doors.

_They'd probably adore him anyway,_ she thought. _What's that verse? "Spare the rod, spoil the child?"_

Quinn could see Sam ball his fists and whisper angrily to his parents.

_He really is a good guy._

"Let us not forget the story of Babel, folks. God put only the wickedest sinners in the Tower of Babel and cursed them to all speak different languages, so they couldn't understand each other. The righteous among us can hear the other righteous, though, so I urge you to hear this: When you see wicked, you call it wicked. You do not tolerate sin. You do not coddle it in the hopes that it could be anything more than what it is—and that's ugly _sin._ It doesn't matter whether the sinners understand you or not; you know your opinion aligns with that of the Almighty God! So go fourth, brothers and sisters, and take up your arms!"

With that, the organ sounded and the choir roared the closing hymn, making Quinn exhale the breath that she had been holding for what seemed like the entire homily. Quinn dutifully mouthed the words, the words as empty as her mouth. She leaned forward and slouched slightly, leaning against the back of the pew in front of her; she just didn't have the energy, she thought, to fake this life with a smile anymore. Before Quinn could relax, she felt five slender fingers press hard on her lower back; Judy dug her icy fingers deep into the grooves of Quinn's back, through her thin, linen dress, "Don't slump, dear. You'll have terrible posture."

_Is this what it feels like when _I _touch people? Cold? No wonder nobody ever sticks around._

After the procession marched down the aisle, Russell and Judy strode in the direction of the Reverend who was basking in his post-pastoral ecstasy by the church doors.

_Idiot._

"Wow, what a friggin' blowhard." Sam startled a thoughtful Quinn, and the harshness of his language made her hand shoot up to nervously tug at the golden crucifix around her neck.

"Sam…" She sighed as her eyes darted around to ensure no one was listening.

"No, that's not cool. You and me, Quinn, we have gay friends. Even my parents who aren't the most enlightened people, in that sense, were uncomfortable with his fire and brimstone bull. I can't imagine what this place was telling Stevie and Stacy in Sunday school. I'm never coming back here again."

Quinn smiled tightly, "Must be nice to have a choice." She sat down gracefully on the hard bench and warily watched her parents in her peripheral vision.

Sam tapped her high-heel with his Converse sneaker, "Scooch."

Quinn cocked her eyebrow up at him, "You can't just walk past me and sit down?"

"Well, I mean," his face clouded with seriousness, "I would, but I'm afraid you'd get a look at my butt and wouldn't be able to stop yourself from grabbing a piece."

Quinn doubled back and swatted at him.

"What? I'm serious. I'm pretty sure I even saw Karofsky admiring the goods the other day." Sam chuckled and elbowed Quinn over so he could sit down. For all she had put him through, the boy still harbored a fondness for Quinn, and it pained him to see her so distant lately.

"Hey," he teased, "You're a bit of a heartbreaker, too, you know."

"Oh?" Quinn thumbed aimlessly through the thin pages of her Bible, pining for the solitude of her bedroom.

"Yeah, Rachel was asking me about you the other night."

Quinn's eyes widened and her head shot up to search Sam's eyes, demanding an answer, "What?"

Sam was taken aback by Quinn's intensity, the good-natured smile falling from his face, "Yeah, I mean, she was probably just wondering about you and Finn…"

"Oh."

_Of course. Stupid._

"So…" Sam gulped down his pride and kicked at a dust ball on the floor, "How are things with you and Finn?"

"Great! Better than ever." In truth, apart from their brief, very public kiss on Friday, Quinn hadn't spoken to her boyfriend since prom night, and she certainly wouldn't be the first to break the ice.

He placed his hand over hers gently and breathed, "I'm happy for you."

Quinn managed a small smile and felt compelled to comfort her friend when she heard a shrill "Quinnie!" echo a few rows behind them.

"Shit." Quinn muttered, and Sam raised his eyebrows nodding his head at her profanity.

"Oh, shut up, Sam."

The boy put his hands up innocently, "I didn't say anything."

"Ha-ha. Right. Well, I'll see you tomorrow."

"For just another 'Manic Monday?'"

"You are _such_ a nerd." Quinn bumped her hip against his before smiling her goodbye.

As she turned back to look at Sam shepherding his family out a side door, guilt welled in the pit of her stomach. She wished, for just an instant, that she were "lucky" enough to live in a Motel Six with the homeless Evans family.

"Quinnie, please don't keep your father waiting." What would be a throw-away line said by any other housewife was laced with the urgency and panic she had come to expect from her mother.

**OOOO**

Whenever Rachel was lost in her own thoughts, her mind was almost always bright with burning, hot halogen bulbs and orchestral crescendo's leading to a big finish. The final note. The big finale. Her "someday" identity. The twinkle in her deep, brown eyes was the flashing cameras at the stage door where little "someday" Berry's would congregate to ask her for advice on how to "make it." Because, someday, she would make it; she would leave this town with its tumble weeds and tractor-trailers behind.

Yes, Rachel's daydreams had almost always been consumed by the "someday" of fame. But lately, the "almost" to that "always" was occupied by a tall, willowy blonde. If Rachel sat still for long enough, she'd find her mind wandering to "why."

_Why am I preoccupied with _her_, of all people?_

_Why can't I focus on Jesse, who wants me?_

_Why can't I even focus on Finn?_

_Why should I care if Quinn is in trouble? That isn't my problem and she certainly doesn't want my help. She doesn't even want my absolution._

Rachel was never one to dwell, though. Her seemingly boundless energy made denial not only feasible, but an art form—a kind of craft to perfect. Like singing, dancing, acting. She was, as her fathers said, ever-the-actress. Rachel could run another mile on her elliptical, or pirouette another perfect point, or choreograph another number of her "someday" self-titled Broadway show. Rachel, she thought, could do anything. Anything to think of anything but her_._

So imagine her dismay when Hiram caught her definitely _not_ thinking about Quinn as she was staring into the freezer for ten solid, seemingly endless minutes.

"Damn, sweetie, I know it's already summery out, but you're going to run us up one hell of an electric bill."

"Oh!" Rachel's entire body jerked up in the air, "I was just getting a popsicle."

"Your dad bought you 800 flavors to pick from?" Hiram smiled and slid up onto a tall stool at their kitchen island. Not an easy feat at 5'6.

"Haha. Oh, daddy." Rachel beamed her best show smile and closed the fridge.

"I may not be as intuitive as dad, but you can't fool me." Hiram patted the seat next to him, "What's up, buttercup?"

"Nothing," Rachel tossed her hair back and elected to change the subject as she climbed up onto the stool, "So! Where _is_ dad? It would be odd of him to be at the office on a Sunday evening!"

"Some of their best guys put in weekend hours for the overtime. Anyway, if he expects to work from the lake house all summer, he needs to pay his dues now. Why do you think I'm rushing as many closings as I can? I've been showing a house a day for weeks."

Every summer since Rachel could remember, the Berrys had rented an old cottage up on Lake Erie. Her fathers went with the intention of "getting away from it all," while Rachel waited every year for the chance to return to Camp Nakamow. The Big Apple it wasn't, but Rachel had been to the performing arts camp from five to fourteen, and even when she grew past the age limit, she always returned to volunteer a few days a week. Naturally, not all the campers took "performance training" as seriously as the gold star, but Rachel reveled in being in an atmosphere where most of those around her wanted something bigger and brighter than a mediocre Midwestern existence. She had never felt that kind of camaraderie anywhere else until…well, until Glee Club came along.

The girl took comfort in the lakeside memories, until they made her think of Glee Club, which in turn made her think of what she begged herself to deem unthinkable.

Hiram rested his head on his hand and peered over at his deeply pensive daughter. It wasn't like her not to talk. She traced the outlines of the little pink hearts on her pajama bottoms, seemingly oblivious to her father's concern.

"Rachel Barbra Berry," He whispered it gently, not at all an accusation.

She slowly lifted her head to look at him, lips slightly parted, with a peculiar, almost guilty expression. Hiram quirked his eyebrow up, and fought back a smile. He couldn't help it.

_In this moment, she's back to being that little five-year-old who set off a box of fire crackers on the deck in her preschool reimagining of _Chicago_. That face—the one that melted the hearts of ten agitated, sleepy firemen at 2am. I don't know where she got all that charm from; if only I could pull that face with her other father._

When Rachel saw how closely her father was studying her every movement, her eyes widened in panic and she quickly looked back down at her lap. Damning herself for being such an open book, she tried to regain whatever composure she had and started outlining hearts again.

"For all that trouble, you forgot your popsicle."

Rachel laughed nervously, "I'm not hungry anymore."

"Is it Finn?"

Rachel's fingertips paused on her soft flannel, but only long enough to start tapping out a rhythm. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

Is _it Finn?_

Inhaling deeply as if she were about to belt a high F, Rachel readied herself to answer, "…Yes."

"Dad told me you said that he was back with that Quinn girl."

_One_. Two-three. _One_. Two-three.

"He is."

It would never matter to Hiram whether his daughter was sixteen or sixty, his place was right by her side when he saw those eyes well up. Trying his best to comfort her, he leaned into her and scoffed, "Isn't that the bitchy blonde cheerleader who got knocked up last ye—"

"_Don't_ talk about her like that! You don't even know her! She has a lot going on right now." Rachel didn't remember the exact instant that she leapt out of her seat to yell into her father's stunned face; it was almost as if she felt herself move and just ended up wherever fate would have her.

Too startled to respond, Hiram stuttered, "I…I, uh…"

"Daddy! I'm sorry. I just…Umm…" Rachel panicked and had to rely on her old standby, "It's just 'lady problems,' if you know what I mean." That was an irrefutable perk of being the daughter of two dads—just like the crabby 7th grade gym teacher, those guys never needed nor wanted elaboration when it came to "lady problems." Even the most progressive, feminist men in the world are clueless when "that time of the month" rolls around, she thought.

"So, thanks for the talk! It's been…great! See you bright and early tomorrow morning! I'm sleepy, so I'm just gonna go now." Without waiting for a response, Rachel turned on her heel and shot out of the kitchen, around the corner and up the stairs like a pinball.

By the time she had reached the safe solitude of her bedroom, her energy level gave way to collapse and she hurled herself onto her bed, ignoring her nightly moisturizing routine.

The last few strings of thought racing through her tired mind made sense only through the lens of that night in the girls' bathroom.

_Moisturizing cream…I can't. Too tired to moisturize…skin…so soft…_

Rachel slid her fingers up and down the expanse of her pink faux-down comforter before her eyes fluttered shut.

_She's so soft…_

**OOOO**

Rachel was finding it more and more difficult to bound out of bed with the easy enthusiasm that was her trademark. She felt on edge lately, and she knew it affected the way she slept—which, of course, used to be tucked-in, head thrown back, ready to greet the world and now was sheets tangled, and body contorted in whatever position her dreams left her.

Not the least of her worries was the fact that Jesse St. James had been hired as the Glee Club's new consultant. When he texted her the news over the weekend with a ";)" face, a distinct irritation distracted her to the point of not being able to muster a response. Of course, she had to make up for that today by hamming it up.

_At least that's one of the things I'm good at._

Rachel turned over to see the framed picture of the New Directions on her bedside table. She smiled as she reached for it and held it in her hands. They were all beaming, trophy in hand, at Regionals. All of them except Quinn, of course. The beautiful blonde stood in the back row of the shot, slightly separated from the group and wearing a painfully forced grin. That was the night Rachel had sung "Get it Right." Rachel couldn't help looking offstage at the couple; all of her best performances were born of truth.

_If only Quinn knew that she was the one who inspired me to write it when we were alone in the auditorium that one afternoon beside the piano. If only she knew that when she crossed the great divide of the stage floor, I saw her with new eyes. She had a nearness to me as she walked over, head hung low, heart bared open for the first time since I've met her. Vulnerable._

Rachel placed the picture back carefully as she sat up, preparing to greet the day that was already bursting through her windows. A 7am Glee meeting before school even starts. Here we go.

**OOOO**

"New Directions! I would like to introduce you to our new show choir consultant: Jesse St. James."

Rachel leaned forward and gave her best "face," clapping excitedly. Mercedes arched her eyebrow at Rachel's enthusiasm and slumped back in her chair. Although Rachel couldn't see it, Quinn shifted uncomfortably behind her and Finn crossed his arms. It seems as though no one on New Directions was as excited about the infamous Jesse's return as his ex girlfriend.

Finn was the first to give a voice to the others' suspicion, "I don't trust this guy. How do we know he's not just gonna trick us into doing something stupid, so his alma mater wins?"

Jesse's smile was cocky, yet calm, "I don't think I need to do much tricking to get you to do something stupid, Finn."

Lauren huffed in solidarity with Finn as he narrowed his eyes, stricken by Jesse's insult. His girlfriend, who sat just beside him, looked disinterested in the entire scene.

"Jesse is just a consultant; I still make all the calls." Mr. Schuester tried to calm the storm of resentment brewing within his glee club. There was nothing to be anxious about, really.

"Now, I have all the confidence in the world in you guys. I just think we could use all the help we can get, because," He pointed to his whiteboard that read "NATIONALS" at the front of the choir room, "This is it. We've been working so hard for two years for this moment and that moment is finally here. Now, I was talking with Jesse and he agreed that we should continue with our successful trend of doing original songs for the competition. I was thinking of doing one group number, and one duet—"

Finn piped up, "Rachel and I should sing a duet. We killed it last year at Regionals with 'Faithfully.'"

Quinn's reserved expression froze over as she glared from Finn down to Rachel, "Yeah, killed us. We lost."

"May I?" Jesse, ever the suave diplomat, had come to a compromise, "I agree that Rachel should sing lead, but Finn, I think it's best if you sit this one out."

Quinn peered over at Finn's disappointment, barely stifling a smile.

_Serves that oaf right._

"Fact is," Jesse continued, "most of the other guys in here are better singers and Mike Chang, who can't even sing, can at least dance."

Mike Chang managed a sympathetic smile at his teammate as Jesse wore on, "You kind of sing and dance like a zombie who has to poop."

The club reeled with either barely contained laughter or shock. Puck and Kurt leaned into each other, chuckling, while Quinn pursed her lips and turned her body away from Finn's to hide her subtle delight. Rachel played with her hands nervously.

_This is going to be a long practice...I can't believe Quinn's not even sticking up for her boyfriend. She's so selfish, sometimes._

"You see? You see what I'm talking about?" Finn fumed, "This guy's a jerk!"

Mr. Schuester tried to quell the tension rising between the two boys, "Jesse, maybe you could be a little gentler with your advice."

"Gentle?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry," Jesse kept his cruel refinement, "I didn't realize we were training for the 'Good Try' ribbon at Nationals. I thought we were in it to win the whole, damn thing…and there's only one way we can do that…"

Brittany leaned forward, "Poison darts?"

"Vocal Adrenaline's strategy is simple: Identify your best performer, and build the entire performance around them."

Mercedes shrugged her shoulders, "So, what does everyone else do?"

Puck added, "And who's our star performer?"

Mr. Schuester surveyed the entire group before stating, "We're going to have auditions to find out."

At that, Rachel, Mercedes, Kurt, and Santana all smiled smugly and looked to their left and right, staking out the competition.

"I'm going to post a sign-up sheet later this afternoon."

Finn sighed, "Mr. Schue, don't you think this is kind of not our style?"

Sam turned to face his friend, "Normally, I'd agree with you, Finn, but this is the big time; I think we should listen to Jesse."

**OOOO**

A peculiar quiet fell on the hallways of McKinley that Monday, as news of Sue's sister's death had reached even the most clueless of freshmen. The hush wasn't necessarily out of respect for Sue, it most likely had more to do with the fact that she wasn't arbitrarily thrusting students against lockers and booming her bullhorn across campus. Still, for all that she had put them through, the Glee Club had a strange camaraderie with Sue. Both she and they were a little too loud and a little too brass for most people's tastes. So it just made sense for the Glee Club to sing at her sister's funeral.

Quinn allowed herself the private satisfaction of being proud of her boyfriend. Finn had done the right thing in volunteering the New Directions for Jane's service; every member of the club knew that and they were all eager to stand behind him. He was a leader;"King of his domain," she thought. But then, Quinn knew that she wasn't his chosen queen. That title belonged to Rachel, the ever-present thorn in the side of Quinn's plans and the object of her…emotions lately.

As she was walking down the hallway, a sparkling glimmer in the corner of her eye stopped her in her tracks. She turned to face the bulletin board beside the choir room door to see a shiny gold star with "Rachel Berry" in dramatic script scrawled beside it. Of course: The auditions list for the Nationals solo. And the Queen Diva was rounding out the bottom of the list angling to be that final performance—to belt out that final note that would send her away from this terrible place. Quinn was self aware enough to know her envy for what it was, but she was more disconcerted by the fact that she felt compelled to see Rachel's performance.

_A send-off, maybe. I won't know her for much longer. A year, tops. I want to see her sing like it's for the win. To hear that passion in her voice. That signature voice that sends chills from the back of my neck all the way down to the small of my back…_

_Stop._

_Okay, Tryouts are at 3pm in the auditorium today. Done._

**OOOO**

That afternoon, Quinn found a place in the shadows behind the black curtains of the stage. She felt acutely aware of every breath she took—how it sounded like a wind gale in the silence of the open auditorium—how it seemed to flutter the heavy black velvet curtain inches away from her mouth. A familiar feeling of uneasiness flipped over in her gut. You, Quinn Fabray, don't belong here. "Research," she reasoned.

_These four are the best singers in Glee. Maybe if I learn from them, I'll be able to leave, too, one day._

Ambivalence made Quinn shift her weight back and forth, debating whether or not to flee, when she saw long, glossy dark hair flip from across the stage: Santana. The blonde retreated further into the shadows as she watched her friend saunter past the band and up to the microphone. Being the queen bee at McKinley High, Quinn had heard the rumors about her former second-in-command. And although the girl had to be deep in denial to go to prom with a lughead like Karofsky, Quinn still admired the way Santana carried herself. Even though she must be struggling, one could never tell.

The loud horns of "Back to Black" roared, making Quinn retreat even further from the stage floor.

_He only said goodbye with words_

_I'd die a hundred times_

_You go back to her, and I go back to black_

The lyrics stung more than Quinn cared to admit, but by the song's finish, she steeled her resolve and let herself feel joy for Santana. Her rendition was spot-on. "This girl," Quinn thought, "is going places."

Mr. Schuester clapped enthusiastically which made Quinn jump then steady herself to stand as still as possible, "Fantastic, Santana!"

Jesse, who hadn't looked up once during the performance leaned forward with a placating, "Thanks so much for coming in."

Santana was not one to accept commentary that was anything less than stellar, "Wait, that's all you have to say? You spent the entire performance scribbling notes."

Quinn's eyes narrowed in solidarity with her friend.

_Santana can be a bitch, but at least she'd never revel in bashing others' dreams._

"Well, if you really must know, I was simply writing down that I don't think your performance went very deep into the emotional truth of the song."

It took all of Quinn's self control not to fly down from the curtains and deck Jesse square in the mouth. Quinn never understood why, when he and Rachel started dating last year, everyone thought the two were made for one another. Their shared interests aside, Jesse was cruel and calculating. The only sure thing about the former Vocal Adrenaline "legend" was that he could be counted on to be duplicitous. Rachel, in contrast, was anything but. The petite brunette had a warmth about her that was honest and inherently good. The more Quinn compared the two, the more livid she became until she felt her bloodstream pump fire through her veins. He was a pompous, vain little bastard and the only thing that could comfort Quinn in that instant was the knowledge that Santana, of all people, could handle herself. As always, she didn't disappoint.

"Oh? Is that so?" Santana clenched her fists, "Well, I happen to have some _feedback_ for you—"

Mr. Schuester interjected, sensing the tension about to erupt, "Thanks, Santana. That's all we'll need."

"I'm about to go _all _Lima Heights."

"Okay. Thank you."

Quinn covered her mouth to stifle her laughter as she watched Santana saunter with just as much confidence, if a little more anger, off the stage. She drew the curtains tightly around herself to hide from the next contestant and Jesse's next inevitable victim: Kurt.

Ever since her first day in Glee club, Quinn had harbored a secret admiration for Kurt—an admiration that multiplied tenfold last week when he endured what would have been hell on earth for her. The way he had braved the crowd's jeers and taunts, figurative blood dumped on his head, with a smile on his face was something that she was certain she could never do. Part of Quinn wished she were there for him that night. Most of her knew that, for whatever reason, where she ended up with Rachel by her side, was where she was meant to be. Anyway, Kurt seemed to have come into his own lately. If anyone had the courage to damn the naysayer's, it was him.

_He's singing "Some People" from Gypsy? And he's killing it._

Through the entirety of Kurt's performance, Jesse was, again, doodling on his notepad and smirking at Kurt's dramatic flair. When Kurt slid on his knees to hit that last note, Mr. Schuester was enthusiastic in his praise while Jesse leaned forward, "You do know that song was meant to be sung by a woman, right?"

Kurt handled Jesse's interrogation with poise, though he looked a little bewildered. When he was dismissed from the stage, Quinn felt compelled to come out of the shadows and comfort him—to let him know that he belonged out there and that nobody had the right to tell him otherwise. She had always wished, privately, that someone had said that to her.

Next in line was Mercedes, confident, brass, and soulful as ever. Quinn almost left, only to avoid feeling the urge to wallop Jesse after his inevitable critique. After the horn blasted the first stanza of Otis Redding's "Try a Little Tenderness," Quinn sunk back against the cold wall of the stage and let herself drift off, Mercedes voice as her only compass. She knew she didn't say "thank you" often enough to the girl for all that Quinn had asked of her at the end of last year.

_Oh, she may be weary_

_Them young girls they do get weary_

_Wearing that same old miniskirt dress_

_But when she gets weary_

_You try a little tenderness_

Swaying slightly to the music, Quinn let herself float into that dangerous place in her mind where nothing was in her control any longer. Luckily for her, the tempo of the song picked up enough to bring her out of her reverie without dwelling on Rachel for too long. Her eyes fluttered open just in time for another barrage of Jesse's insults.

"You're not a star. You're just a girl who can really sing."

Mercedes was taken aback, "Excuse me?"

Before Quinn could process Jesse's insults, she became distracted by thinking of them together—them being Jesse and Rachel. She knew about the egg thing, everyone did. But did he ever taunt Rachel the way he was doing with the other Glee kids? Did he touch her, rough and clumsy? Did he ever go too far and hurt her? Quinn's ire was about to bubble over when she saw the small brunette bound out onto the stage from the other end of the curtains. Not thinking, Quinn edged out of her hiding place to see her more clearly.

"Hi, my name is Rachel Berry and I'll be singing the most difficult song I've ever sung."

"Great. What song?" Mr. Schuester was always wary when it came to Rachel's grand exaggerations; Quinn knew this. She didn't know why, though. They'd always endeared Rachel to her, as reluctant as she was to admit it.

"Barbra's closing number to my favorite movie: _Funny Girl._"

"Rachel, in your head, are you singing to anyone in particular?" Jesse leaned forward, his eyes trained on the girl like a wolf.

Quinn swallowed hard, her emotions welling in her chest. She instinctively grabbed onto the black curtains beside her to steady herself. At that moment, Rachel saw a sparkling glimmer on the periphery of the stage. She turned her head slightly to look down at the glinting gold cross of Quinn Fabray and then up to her beautiful, panic-stricken face.

_Oh God…She can see me. It's too late now. I can't hide._

The two girls locked eyes, desperate to read one another until Rachel remembered that she had been asked a question. She turned her head back to the men in the audience, trying to remember where she was, what she was singing, and what the lyrics were.

"Not really."

The piano played the opening notes and Quinn used the dimming of the lights as an opportunity to slink back into the curtained darkness. There was no feasible way to escape without being seen by Jesse, Mr. Schuester, and now the three other performers that had filed to the back of the auditorium. Even if she'd had a way to leave, Quinn felt paralyzed when she heard Rachel sing.

_Oh my man, I love him so_

_He'll never know_

_All my life is just despair_

_But I don't care_

_When he takes me in his arms_

_The world is bright, alright_

The lyrics shook Quinn to her very core, and as Rachel belted out the next few lines, her tears began to fall freely, as Rachel's did.

_How could I have been so stupid to think…No, she wanted Finn all along. This was just her roundabout way of doing it. Playing nice with me only to show her true colors._

Quinn's anger did not stop the familiar goosebumps from covering her body as Rachel poured her heart into the last line.

Had Quinn been more perceptive, she might have noticed Rachel's shifting gaze to look at the space by the curtains that she had just abandoned. Had she not been constructing her own self-fulfilling prophecy, she might have noticed that Rachel's tears did not belong to Finn—in fact, they never had.

**OOOO**

Quinn had stayed backstage until the four divas left the auditorium. To avoid having to confront Rachel, Quinn left McKinley High from a side exit and bolted towards her car. She fumbled with the keys, trying desperately to fit the key in the lock through tear-filled eyes. In her rush, she had scratched the car's paint which made her crash both arms down onto the hood of her car. A sharp pain jolted up her right arm, "God damnit!"

At that moment, she felt a small hand grasp her waist, sending her reeling around then looking down to see Rachel, eyes still red from singing through her tears.

"You watched me today." Rachel said this almost to herself. As an affirmation that what she had seen hadn't been imagined. She only wanted Quinn to confirm it.

"Yeah, I saw it." Quinn spat, in mental and physical anguish, but resentful over how comforting those big, dark eyes were.

"Saw what?"

"Don't play stupid, Rachel. _Your_ man? Do you really have to take away the only good thing about me?"

"Quinn, I can assure you that Finn is not one of the many, many good things about you."

"Don't avoid the question. Are you or are you not trying to take him away from me?" Quinn's face was flushed with anger, and she suddenly realized that Rachel was still cupping her hip. Because of their closeness, she could feel Rachel's hot, ragged breath against the sensitive skin of her neck.

"I just—"

"Yeah? You just what?"

Rachel whispered it through tears, like a guilty prayer, "I just…I can't stand seeing you two together."

Quinn bit her scabbed bottom lip to keep from crying, "Well, did you think that it was easy for me? Earlier this year, seeing you and him flaunting your relationship?"

"I'm sorry."

"But you're not, Rachel. You'll do anything to get what you want."

"And how do you know what I want?"

Quinn thought she felt Rachel's hand slide up to rest at her waist, but she was certain that it must have been her imagination.

"Just, please. Please don't screw this up for me." Quinn wrapped her arms tightly around her chest and jerked away from Rachel's hold.

At the loss of contact, Rachel felt suddenly adrift—like the cord holding her boat to shore was cut. She had never felt so alone in her entire life.

Quinn spun around and jammed her key into the lock, flinging the door open, and making Rachel jump backwards. Rachel stepped further back when she saw the force with which Quinn slammed the car and hugged herself when Quinn backed up and peeled out of the parking lot with what she thought wasn't so much as a second look. Had Rachel been more perceptive, though, she may have seen Quinn looking only at her in the rear view mirror the entire time.

**OOOO**

_Gong. Gong. Gong._

The church bell's even tempo helped Quinn put one foot in front of the other long enough not to fall as she walked down the church's aisle. Finn's hand gripped hers like a sweaty vice, but when she looked up to catch his gaze, the boy stared forward resolutely, his eyes fixed on Jane's casket. Walking down the aisle with him made Quinn wonder what kind of husband he would make her when they married, one day. She squeezed his hand, desperate for him to see her, but Finn's gaze drifted off to the rightmost pews where Rachel was sitting, peering back at both of them every so often.

Quinn noticed the intensity of Rachel's stare and pressed her body tightly against Finn's as they sat down in the front row, waiting for the service to start. The blonde allowed herself to relax as more and more people filed into the pews, putting much needed space between her and Rachel, but she still felt as though her every move was being watched. Tentatively, Quinn rested her head against Finn's shoulder. A few rows behind her, Rachel couldn't help but well up, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the hymnal. No one noticed this except Sam, who sat to her left. He looked from Rachel to the couple in the front row and sighed sympathetically at Rachel, placing his hand on hers.

"Hey."

Rachel leapt to attention at the sudden touch.

"I know it must be hard. I feel for you, Rach. I've been there."

"I'm fine."

"You're not. But you will be. It gets easier, I promise."

At that, Rachel had to give Sam a smile; it was kind of him to think of her, even if she knew he was wrong. Because it seemed as though, with each passing day, her feelings were only becoming harder and harder to bear.

The service was beautifully done, and the Glee Club welled with a collective pride when their teacher stood by Sue's side to help read Jane's eulogy. The group was also taken aback by Sue's eloquence and depth of emotion when she described her capacity to love.

Mr. Schuester cleared the tears from his throat and continued with a particularly poignant sentiment, "When you love someone like I loved Jane, they're a part of you. It's like you're attached by this invisible tether, and no matter how far away you are, you can always feel them. And now every time I reach for that tether, I know there's no one on the other end and I feel like I'm falling into nothingness…"

Rachel felt her heart break into fours. In half for Sue, and then all over again when she remembered how very alone she felt after Quinn pulled away from her in the parking lot yesterday. Adrift. That's how she felt—adrift. Her boat, untethered—floating away from the comfort and safety of the shore into the darkness of the still, black ocean.

Finn shifted uncomfortably away from Quinn when he reflected on his own relationship with her. He only felt "tethered" to one person. Little did he know, his girlfriend was beginning to realize that she felt the same way about the same person. Quinn stretched her right hand out, flexing her wrists, then curling it back into a fist. Maybe the pain would keep her from crying. Something to focus on. Anything but her. And him. Together.

_Theirs is an inevitability,_ she thought, _surer than death._

**OOOO**

After the Glee Club sang their tribute to Jane, Finn pushed through his friends to reach the doors so quickly that Quinn was startled. Everyone else in the pews also raised their eyebrows at his abrupt exit until they noticed tears in his eyes. He was just trying to be the stoic young man he was expected to be. Before leaving, he leaned down beside Sue to kiss her cheek softly and squeeze her shoulder.

"Thanks, Frankenteen. That wasn't half bad."

He nodded, then pushed out of the double doors to the sunlit safety of the parking lot. There, he sat in his truck contemplating what Sue had written in her sister's eulogy. Before he could collect his thoughts, he saw a whip of blonde hair fly by the passenger side and soon enough, Quinn had climbed up beside him, slamming the door. The air was thick with tension—thick with words unspoken.

Quinn couldn't stomach the silence, so she filled it with insincerity. She certainly couldn't tell him the truth, especially not when she knew she was about to have her heart torn out, "Sorry, long line in the rest room. Everybody was fixing their mascara."

Quinn laid her cold hand on Finn's, "You did such a great job with the funeral. I'm so proud of you." Her eyes darted from left to right, searching the boy's face and bracing for impact, "Why are you crying?"

Finn bit back his tears, too exhausted to even force a "thank you" for Quinn's sake, "Because I'm breaking up with you."

Quinn couldn't mask the fact that she knew it was coming, so she proceeded on to the interrogation, "Because of Rachel? Because you still love her?"

"I shouldn't have done this with you. I thought that I could fix everything from last year but, I-I can't. I just can't and that feeling that Sue was talking about in there, that being tethered to someone, I-I just…I don't feel that way about you."

"But you do with her?" Quinn was resolved to get answers. Her world may have been falling down around her but she wanted him to admit it. Admit what Rachel didn't dare to.

He faltered in her response, which made Quinn panic. The reality of her inevitable loss had suddenly hit her: Finn would be with Rachel. And she, again, would be alone.

"No. We're not breaking up. I can handle your confusion with Rachel until you get over it. We're going to stay together," she smiled manically, willing him to look at her, "And next year, we're going to be prom king and queen—"

"Just stop it, okay? I don't want that life."

_Do you really think that I do?_

Finn's temper rose and quaked the ground beneath them, "Don't you _feel_ anything anymore? This is real! This is happening!"

A tear rolled down Quinn's cheek as she turned to Finn with pleading eyes. She knew it was useless, but she at least had to try, right? And then ice froze over her beautiful features, seeming to justify Finn's accusation, "Are you happy now? Is this me _feeling _enough for you?"

"Quinn, I'm sorry, I still love you—" He leaned in to comfort her.

"Just, just don't _touch_ me—" Quinn barked at Finn, sending the boy reeling backwards with the edge in her voice. Quinn kicked open the car door and slammed it behind her. She stormed off into the fast-approaching dusk, leaving Finn to dwell on the dark-haired beauty that was now coming out of the church doors.

**OOOO**

The day after the funeral, life returned to normal at McKinley. Sue even seemed to be making up for lost time by telling the freshman gym class that part of their physical fitness exam would include walking on burning coals. Although the atmosphere at Glee Club was still a little somber, and neither Quinn, Rachel, nor Finn were speaking to one another, the group was too preoccupied to notice given that the soloist for Nationals would be announced later that afternoon. Rachel, in particular, used this as a means to distance herself from dwelling on her feelings about Quinn and Finn. She proved not to be very successful at this by herself, so she was oddly relieved to receive a text message from Jesse asking to speak with her.

Unlike most people, Rachel's anxieties were always quelled whenever she stepped foot onstage, so it seemed the only logical place to meet Jesse when he'd asked to see her.

Before she even turned around, she heard his familiar swagger, "Jesse?"

"That's sweet. You remember the masculine click of my designer boots—" Jesse's chest swelled when the spotlights of the auditorium spilled across him; Rachel had no doubt that he felt just as much at home here.

"Okay, why did you ask me to meet you here right before the list goes up? Is this good news? Or is it bad news?"

"Rachel, I did wrong by you last year, and I came back to make that wrong right."

Rachel's stomach turned, as she tried to process her feelings for the older boy whom she still didn't fully trust. Her fathers had always boasted that their daughter trusted you implicitly unless you gave her a serious reason not to. But lately, Rachel believed this a vice, not a virtue.

Jesse continued, "And I came here to tell you: That you're going to be the featured soloist at Nationals in New York."

All of the doubts about Jesse left Rachel as she pressed him further for information, her heart soaring, "Wait! How do you know? Did Mr. Schuester tell you?"

"Let it suffice to say that I was very involved in the decision-making."

Rachel clapped her hands and jumped, elated that this one thing she could count on lately for comfort was coming true. In a fit of spontaneity, she leapt into Jesse's arms, anxious to share her victory with someone who could appreciate it as much as she did.

Jesse wrapped his arm around her slender waist and lifted her off her feet, clearly investing more meaning into the embrace than Rachel did.

The boy was somewhat taken about when he put her down only to see dark clouds of doubt cloud her pretty features, "I-I feel bad…Everyone else worked so hard, now they're just going to hate me."

Jesse would never be able to understand Rachel's concern for her fellow members of Glee, so he didn't even bother trying, "They sort of already do. And you know as well as I that sometimes that's the price of fame."

Jesse's cavalier attitude caught Rachel off-guard and she frowned. She knew that sometimes she annoyed her friends, but they were just that—her friends.

Jesse reached out to touch Rachel's hair, tucking it behind her ear, "I used to think that fame was the only thing that mattered. And now I realize that there's something that matters to me more."

Rachel felt both curious and apprehensive, "What?"

"You." With that, Jesse leaned down to kiss her full, parted lips. Rachel recoiled slightly, bracing herself as if she were about to be doused with a cold bucket of water—or, perhaps a slushie is more accurate. Their kiss was brief, and although Jesse seemed pleased with himself, Rachel found it difficult to force feelings that weren't there now and had never even been there to begin with. There was a part of her that begged her to relent to Jesse; he was good for her. They were right together. Quinn and Finn were happy and in love and she never had a shot. She should stop fooling herself.

_Settle. And be happier for it._

Jesse smiled, oblivious to Rachel's ambivalence, "C'mon…I think the list is posted."

The pair exited stage left before they could see Finn, pink tulip in hand, waiting in the wings for Rachel. And Finn did not turn around fast enough to see Quinn peering behind him through the open door, with the same heartbroken expression he was wearing.


	9. Chapter 8: The Lonely City

**Author's Note: **So, as in the previous installments, this is a modified take on an actual episode. I've blended the canon of 2x22's "New York" with my own Faberry imagination. I took a long hiatus from this story because of school, but I'm back on the Faberry bandwagon again! Also, thank you so much for the reviews! They truly do inspire me to keep writing!

**OOOO**

The flight to New York was loud and joyous; most of the Glee members had never been on a plane before and all were giddy with excitement over their upcoming Nationals performance. As they were boarding, everyone was full of light and song, everyone but Quinn who hid in the back row beside a window. Seeing her friend in pain, Santana quietly asked those around her who had the seat beside Quinn. When she saw that Puck's ticket read "Aisle L, Seat 8," she swiped it from his grasp and shoved her ticket in his hand.

"De nada, homie." Santana flipped her hair at a confused Puck before she sauntered down the aisle to sit next to Quinn.

Quinn remained quiet, as Santana noiselessly settled into the uncomfortable plane seat, crossing her legs. They were friends, but neither one of them had ever been very good at this sort of thing.

"You don't have to do this." Quinn sighed.

"Yes, I do," Santana fumbled angrily with the reclining lever, "My feet are going to be practically up whoever sits in front of me's ass. And I'm saving that aggression for the competition."

"No, I mean…_This_…I'm fine," Quinn started to whisper as Tina and Mike sat in the row in front of them.

"Yeah?" Santana lowered her voice and confessed, "You're about as fine as I was when Brittany started going out with white-boy-on-wheels."

Quinn turned to face her friend, a little taken aback; this was the first time Santana had ever been direct with her about her relationship.

Feeling vulnerable under Quinn's thoughtful stare, Santana looked away, coolly slipped on her sunglasses and leaned back with a nonchalant shrug, "Just saying."

Quinn smiled softly until she remembered something, "Wait, I don't want to talk to you about this. I know you were the one who told everybody he broke up with me."

"Psh, did not. Finn told Puck first and then Puck told Zices and so on and so forth…Welcome to high school. However, I don't want you to think I'm getting all warm and fuzzy on you, because I probably would have said something had I known. I mean, it's pretty juicy gossip."

"Yeah," Quinn muttered, "my entire life collapsing under me is pretty juicy."

Santana scoffed and turned to Quinn emphatically, "Listen, if you ever repeat this to anyone I'll cut you, but if you think that Paul Bunyan is worthy of being your 'entire life' you're wacked out of your mind. Forget him. Let him go off and make mutant babies with Berry and _move on_." Santana waved her hand dismissively at Finn and Rachel who were chatting several rows in front of them, "Honey, you need that shit in your life like you need another bad dye job."

Santana's insult barely registered, Quinn had become so used to them by now. After all, Santana was trying; this was her "being a friend."

Quinn's eyes narrowed when she heard Rachel's loud laugh bubble up into the air. Usually, Rachel's laugh reduced Quinn to happy pieces, but knowing that Finn caused it enraged her, "I just don't get _what_ she sees in him."

Santana sighed, disinterested, until she processed Quinn's words. Tilting her head to the side curiously, she ventured, "What _she_ sees in _him_?"

Quinn panicked; her anger had once again made her act before thinking, "I mean, like, just what they see in each other, you know?"

Santana studied Quinn for a moment, her sunglasses slipping down the bridge of her nose before she turned and settled back into the hard cushion, "I don't know. They're both horrible in bed? He, I can confirm. She, I just suspect. I mean, she dresses like Sister Mary Katherine from my Catholic elementary school except instead of hitting you with a ruler, she'll just belt into your face until you can't take it anymore."

Quinn bit back the urge to defend Rachel, "Can we just change the subject? Please?"

"Okay, whatever." Santana put her head phones on and, ignoring the repeated requests of the flight attendants, started texting. Quinn's stomach churned when she noticed the devious smirk on the girl's face; she wasn't texting—she was sexting.

Less than a minute later, Quinn heard Brittany ask whichever lucky person beside her what a "clitoris" was. As the plane jerked forward for takeoff, Quinn buried her head in her hands.

_Get me out of here._

**OOOO**

When the plane made its descent over Queens, Rachel gripped both armrests, ready to launch herself into the thrilling jolt of metropolitan life—a life she'd always dreamed of. These dreams were the only thing she could count on lately to distract her from circumstances beyond her control. She studied Finn's face as he snored softly beside her, contemplating what her next move should be. In that moment, he looked so peaceful—like a little kid. The instant that the rubber of the plane wheels finally hit the hot pavement of JFK Airport, their plane jerked forward and a sleeping Finn was catapulted out of his seat onto the ground, but not before he bumped his head against the wall in front of him.

"Oh, God! Finn!" Rachel yelped as the boy tumbled into a heap, looking around, dazed and bewildered.

A curmudgeon of a flight attendant barked over the rows, "Sir, you really need to keep your seatbelt fastened when the plane is landing!"

Finn apologized while rubbing his head, "Sorry! I kinda fell asleep and didn't hear the announcement."

Rachel leaned forward, not thinking before resting her hand against his head and giggling sympathetically, "You scared me!"

"I scared myself!" Finn admitted, before smiling sheepishly under the warmth of Rachel's small palm, "You're a nice thing to wake up to, though."

Rachel was almost startled by his admission, and it must have shown on her face because Finn's earnest smile faltered. Rachel withdrew her hand quickly before Finn even collected his bearings enough to stand up. Of course, she'd heard about their break up over the past week—_Her _and Finn's break up. When Kurt texted her the news with a smiley face, Rachel felt so much ambivalence that she didn't know where to turn. The only person in the world that she'd truly wanted to talk to in that instant was Quinn, but that want was more visceral—a gut reaction not within the confines of any logic.

_Why would Quinn have ever wanted to talk to me? _Sh_e_ scolded herself, _I was the reason why the man that she loved left her._

Still, Rachel couldn't bear the silence that had fallen between them over the past week. Quinn refused to even look at her when they were in class or the choir room; she had again adopted that trademark icy veneer that had left Rachel's sophomore "loser"-self trembling. Although she was perceptive enough to know it was an act, Rachel wouldn't dare be the one to shatter it, not when Quinn was still so tender after losing Finn.

_If she'd only talk to me for a little while…to at least tell me how her wrist is holding up—_

"Hey Rach?" Finn was resting his hands against his knees, clearly bucking up the courage to turn to her.

"Yes?"

"I've really missed you."

Rachel should have been complimented—she was, but it certainly didn't show. Instead, she could only muster a nod and damn herself for how disconcerted she felt by the boy's attention.

_What's wrong with me?_

**OOOO**

_This is who I love,_ Rachel thought as she scanned the mammoth buildings and billboards of Times Square.

New York City was just as she'd always imagined. Every underground rumble of its subway was like an inhale which was breathed out by the whoosh of its collective population whirring through the streets. The thudding in her chest almost overwhelmed the sound of endless traffic like an ever-churning bloodstream through the sleepless city. Everything about New York felt vital; it made her ambition primal. She felt hungry for everything around her.

_This is where my heart belongs. I need to leave the rest of it behind. Everything. And everyone._

"I made it."

**OOOO**

It was only right that the first destination of the New Directions would be Times Square. The teenagers, while they weren't all as awestruck as Rachel, were content to sit in the middle of the metropolis and take it all in. Kurt mooned over the _Wicked _billboard, dreaming of starring as the first male Glinda one day. Even Puck stole a furtive glance at the _How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying_ billboard and popped his collar. He smirked as he thought to himself, "If anyone could inject some sorely needed badassery into that role, it'd be the Puckster."

Brittany, as usual, seemed completely unmoved by anything going on around her, smiling placidly at the steps she climbed to sit with her friends.

This was what Quinn needed right now—someone else who wouldn't come uncorked at the mere mention of Broadway. She followed Brittany up the steps and sat beside her with the group, painting on her smile and staring into her lap—anywhere but into the bright lights. Her friends were content to be hypnotized in their naivety, but she wouldn't be fooled. This glitz and glam will be gone tomorrow and they'll all be back in Lima where they'd stay. Well, all of them except—

"Guys!" Rachel bounded up to the group, interrupting their impromptu rendition of Sinatra's "New York, New York." Quinn lifted her gaze and tugged at her sleeves fitfully.

"I have news!" She continued, holding court came so naturally to her, Quinn thought. "To celebrate our impending win at Nationals, I got us all thirteen tickets to Broadway's longest-running show ever: _Cats_!"

Brittany yelped in delight, startling Quinn and snapping her into reality, "You might want to check the dates on those tickets, Rachel, because _Cats_ closed about eleven years ago."

Rachel furrowed her brow and studied the tickets closely, before seeing "1999" stamped on the upper right-hand corners. She steeled herself before admitting, "He did seem crazy. He charged my credit card by swiping it through his butt crack."

Quinn sighed heavily, making Rachel wince and the other teenagers brace for another clash of the titans before Finn broke the tension, "C'mon guys. I bet Mr. Schue already checked us all in. He told us we could explore for a half hour before getting to work. The hotel's a block from here."

Rachel perked up, happy for the interruption as she sidled up beside Finn. The group collected their luggage and rolled onward toward the hotel. Almost all of them stared up in wonder at just how tall the skyscrapers were, occasionally bumping into one another. The movies just didn't do this place justice. The only two in the group that weren't bounding around wide-eyed were a perpetually calm Brittany and a harassed-looking Quinn. The girls trailed the group. Brittany looked down at her giant pretzel adoringly, occasionally gnawing on it, much to the disgust of Quinn whose eyes fixed on Rachel.

After a few moments of uninterrupted silence, Brittany peered from her friend to the tiny brunette leading the pack, "Quinn."

"Hm?" The blonde answered distractedly.

"If looks could kill, you'd be a necrophiliac."

At that, Quinn's eyes widened and she bore down on Brittany, grabbing the girl's wrist still clutching the pretzel, "What the _hell_ is that supposed to mean?" Her threat was whispered but the edge in her voice sent a jolt down to the pit of Brittany's stomach.

"Please! You can do what you want with me, but please don't hurt my pretzel!"

The commotion caused a few of the other Glee club members to look back at them out of curiosity and the alarm in Brittany's voice sent Santana reeling backwards toward them.

"Hey, white-trash Barbie. Get your paws off my girlfriend!" Santana flung the girls apart and bared her teeth as she stepped into Quinn's space. Quinn prepared herself for the tirade that was sure to come and Santana's voice was loud, but it was even, cuttingly so, "I get that your life is in shambles right now. But if you could stop taking out your bizarre, pent-up aggression on innocent bystanders, that'd be great—" Quinn looked around wildly, praying that the group had kept walking, but they were all there—just staring. Taking advantage of the fact that she had an audience, Santana growled her last insult, "Because it's _pathetic_."

Quinn looked down at her shoes, paralyzed until an overwhelming urge to look up overtook her and she locked eyes with Rachel for a brief moment. Finn had his hand clamped on Rachel's shoulder and seemed to be holding her back from…_Me?_ Quinn allowed herself to think that before she saw Finn glare at her and whisper something into Rachel's ear. It made the petite girl sigh and break Quinn's gaze, turning around toward the doors of the hotel room.

The entire group still looked on dumbstruck at the feuding girls; their stares felt heavy like stones on her chest, so Quinn looked downcast again. Santana, taking this as a sign of submission, smirked triumphantly and locked pinkies with Brittany pulling her forward towards the hotel. One by one, Quinn's teammates turned away from her and walked on.

_I hate New York. They should call it the lonely city._

**OOOO**

The hotel lobby was expansive, but the teenagers were still able to see their coach at the front desk filling out paperwork. While they had grown to be a team, they all still split up into different factions to explore the hotel. Naturally, Puck and Lauren made a beeline for the bar to order themselves Manhattans in the spirit of celebration, of course. Quinn sulked behind Mercedes and Tina, desperate to disappear into the background for once. And Finn and Rachel admired the "city" of it all—running their hands over the marble countertops and beaming at each other. Rachel was happy for his company; he seemed to be enjoying himself almost as much as she was.

Quinn's ears perked up at the sound of Rachel's giggle. It bubbled up behind her and she risked a brief glance over her shoulder before scurrying to catch up with Mercedes and Tina. Quinn's gesture was not lost on Rachel, as the smile fell from her face and she nervously played with her hands. Finn noticed the brief exchange and tried to get Rachel to notice him. "Hi," he smiled.

"Hi." Rachel felt his eyes study her and, for once, she felt uncomfortable being the object of someone's undivided attention, "I'm surprised at how well Quinn is taking the breakup. I guess I was wrong about her being a vindictive harpy." There it was again. That guilt. That stinging guilt.

Finn didn't know quite what to make of Rachel at that point, "I guess she just accepted the inevitable."

Quinn, who seated herself with the other girls at a table, turned to watch Rachel and Finn as they walked by her. Mercedes and Tina both shared concerned looks as they saw their friend stare wistfully in the direction of what they knew was killing her. Mercedes cocked her head as she noticed Quinn's eyes rake over Rachel. Only then did Quinn realize the other two girls had fallen silent and were now staring at her curiously. If this startled Quinn, she didn't betray it, she merely put on her best show face and turned around to make small talk about the city sights.

"Or maybe she's just distracted by the awesomeness of New York! I know I am." _Change the subject, Rachel._ "Hey, do you know why it smells like it's wet here all the time?"

"Nope," But Finn was single-minded, too, "Hey what's going on with you and Jesse?"

"Oh, I don't know. He keeps texting me, but I told him I don't want to talk to him until I get back. No boys. No distractions until we win that trophy!" Rachel marched resolutely to the elevator, leaving Finn dejected. He felt thankful that at least they all had to get to work and he hoped that it would be sooner rather than later.

Rachel felt the same as she stepped into that glass elevator. She was surprised to be alone but reveled in the quietness once the door closed. As the elevator started to move upward, she turned around to take in the panoramic skyline of her adopted home. She gripped onto the brass railing in front of the wall-length window and tried to steady her breathing. This should be the happiest time of her life. She should have fallen hopelessly, desperately in love with the city, but the euphoria from earlier had worn off. _After all_, she thought, _even the biggest hearts have no room for two._

When Rachel heard the news about Finn and Quinn, she expected to feel things that never came: triumph, self-satisfaction, even schadenfreude. She expected to feel them over her enemy—Quinn, that is. Rachel had won, after all. She got the guy. She had the friends now. And she'd be the star of the show this weekend. All spotlights on her. All eyes on her.

But as the elevator crept upward, Rachel realized that she could no longer make out the faces of the people on the sidewalk below her and she was struck with a sharp pang of loneliness.

She wrapped her arms around her body before jumping at the "ding" of the elevator.

The ornate brass doors slid open where a maintenance man stood with a trolley full of tools. He pulled the cart away from the door, allowing Rachel to step out before motioning over his shoulder, "Is this you?"


	10. Chapter 9: Bella

**Author's Note:** This chapter contains some direct quotes from the season finale of season 2, "New York." Thus, any quotes that are from the show belong to the show's writers.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Rachel knew it was Quinn before she even opened the door.

"You can come in, Quinn."

The blonde tentatively pushed the hotel room door ajar and slipped inside, looking downcast until she heard the loud thud of the heavy door close behind her.

"How'd you know it was me?" She didn't realize her voice fell to a whisper until she saw Rachel lean in to hear her out of the corner of her eye.

Now, it was Rachel's turn to look downward, although she straightened her posture at the desk where she sat, "Lucky guess."

"Oh? You sure you didn't hear my wings flap? Being a 'vindictive harpy' and all, it's pretty hard to keep from making a lot of noise when I fly around." The bitterness in her voice startled even Quinn, herself, but she didn't betray that as she strode towards her open suitcase to look for something she didn't care about.

Rachel felt her hear sink. _She heard me. _A silence fell over them as Rachel tugged nervously at her gold necklace, too paralyzed with fear to apologize and explain herself. Instead, she changed the subject. _Mistress of diversion. "_You didn't have to knock, you know. It's your hotel room, too."

"Well, I didn't know if you were in here with someone." Quinn stuffed her jacket angrily into her suitcase and tugged forcefully at the strained zipper.

"You mean, in here with Finn." Before Rachel could stop herself, she had opened up Quinn's wound again.

At that, Quinn paused and slowly lifted her eyes to meet Rachel, who had swiveled her chair around to face the blonde. "Yeah," she spat, "_your man_."

Rachel's instinct was to deny it but then she paused and rolled Quinn's accusation over in her head.

"You never told me why you watched me audition."

"To be honest, Berry, you would have found out exactly why I was there except the slaughterhouse delivered the pigs' blood to the wrong auditorium." Quinn smirked cruelly until she noticed Rachel's gaze had trained unwaveringly on her.

"You're lying." Rachel's reply was simple, but the force of it left Quinn disarmed.

"Excuse me?" Quinn's face grew hot and she gripped her suitcase to keep her hands from trembling.

"I don't believe you."

The girls locked eyes, both trying in vain to read one another when the door swung open and the rest of the Glee girls along with Kurt piled into the room, talking excitedly. Their laughter was a welcome reprieve to Rachel and Quinn until it stopped. When their friends saw who was already in the room and noticed the expressions on the girls' faces, they knew they had ambled into the middle of a stand-off. Santana was the first to break the silence by huffing loudly and stomping over to get her nail file from her suitcase.

"So," Kurt felted compelled to ease the tension, "guess whose nanny I saw in the park while we were singing!"

Rachel was grateful for the interruption. She slowly turned around in her chair and poured over her many drafts of song lyrics. After all, somebody had to get to work.

"Whose?" Tina plopped onto one of the beds and Brittany climbed over her to seize the empty Styrofoam cup that had been her muse earlier that afternoon.

"Well, I've seen her several times in US Magazine, and I'm pretty sure it was Sarah Jessica Parker's! Their strollers were identical." Kurt clapped his hands and bounced up and down for dramatic flair.

Even Quinn cracked a smile at his boundless enthusiasm. Mercedes slid down beside her, offering her friend a small smile of comfort. She knew how hard it was on Quinn seeing Rachel and Finn together and she could only imagine what the two girls were fighting about before they walked in.

Santana never paused from filing her nails and shrugged her shoulders at Kurt's excitement before admitting, "Okay, that _is_ pretty cool. But I guess I'm more of a Samantha than a Carrie."

Lauren snorted, "I bet you are…"

Santana quirked her eyebrow and paused, mid-file, "What the hell is that supposed to mean, Zices?"

"Nothin'. Just that you like a face-full."

Kurt and the girls became wary of the knife-like way Santana was gripping her nail file and they sat on the edge of their seats, ready to get between the two.

"A face-full of _what_, exactly?"

The group was frozen, bearing witness to their own high-def version of West Side Story with no Officer Krupke to cut in. Before anyone could stop her, Lauren reached for the down pillow beside her and walloped Santana in the face with it, sending her nail file clattering on the ground.

Even Rachel stopped her feverish brainstorming to turn around, mouth agape at Santana who was slack-jawed and covered in feathers.

"Oh, _hell _no!" Santana leapt from the arm chair and grabbed hold of the pillow underneath Brittany's head. She tugged it out from under her with such force that she sent Brittany tumbling to the ground beside the bed. Lauren scurried behind Tina for protection, but soon, Santana was knocking Lauren's glasses off with the furious pummeling of her pillow. Soon enough, the entire room had devolved into feathers and giggle fits and even Quinn rose to the occasion when Brittany grabbed her hand and pulled her up to bounce on the bed.

Quinn allowed herself to laugh, really laugh. Belly laugh. She needed it. If she just focused on jumping from bed to bed and slamming her pillow against anyone within reach, she could will Rachel out of her mind, even if the little brunette sat only feet away, still writing studiously. Quinn had used this trick when she was a little girl. Whenever her parents would fight, she'd steal away into the backyard and bounce on the trampoline, going around and around in circles until she collapsed from dizziness. Quinn could know joy. She just always had to keep moving so she didn't think too long about too much.

In her private life, Rachel wasn't nearly as committed to acting as Quinn was, and she sat sullenly at the desk, writing new lyrics for Nationals only to scratch them out again.

_Enough with the distractions._

Rachel crumpled up her umpteenth draft of a half-written song and tried to ignore the bubbling laughter and shrieks of the girls behind her.

_First, a song about cups and now this. I mean, really, unless they want to pillow-fight for the judges, they are most certainly wasting time._

She shifted uncomfortably at the hotel desk, damning the metal bars of the chair for digging into her. It may have been "metropolitan sleek," but it was really starting to make her ass hurt and the flurry of pillow down certainly wasn't helping her focus. Nor was the willowy blonde bouncing from bed to bed like a spider monkey. Rachel had never seen Quinn so joyful, certainly not recently, which was why she bit her tongue and let the girls have their fun. Rachel could hardly believe this was the same girl who, only minutes earlier, had bared her teeth at her. Quinn's ability to flip the switch that turned her from enraged to elated frightened Rachel, mostly because Rachel thought it must exhaust her.

She was still mulling over Quinn when the blonde raised a pillow high over Rachel's head and crashed it down on top of her, bounding away before the stunned girl could respond. _What does she want with me?_ Rachel willed herself not to turn around as her cell phone buzzed, further pulling her out of her reverie. _Finn._

"Meet me in Central Park. Bow Bridge. Dress up."

Rachel bit her lip, unsure of what to feel. At that moment, Quinn happened to spin around on the bed to find Rachel staring down at her open phone, clearly engrossed in thought. The troubled ambivalence on Rachel's beautiful face told Quinn all she needed to know. _Finn._ She clenched her fists around her pillow and sank onto the bed, with the girls and Kurt still whirring around her.

Aside from Quinn, Tina was the first of the group to notice Rachel collect her things, "Where are you going?"

"Out," Rachel rummaged in her suitcase for her blue formal dress before stealing a glance at a stricken Quinn, "Just…out."

**OOOO**

The walk from their hotel to Central Park wasn't particularly long, but Rachel felt as though she were walking the half mile inch-by-inch. Her feet felt heavy, weighted down with the thought of her…and him, of course. And them together. And us, whoever us was.

The sun's beams spilled hot across her face, making her brown eyes shimmer hazel in the light. _There it is,_ she thought, _Bow Bridge. _And there he was, looking out at the water. And as she approached him she saw his face alight which made her smile and it made her nervous for reasons yet unknown. She had done this before with him, she thought. Been a partner in his push and pull far too many times for their meeting to jar her but whenever she was alone with Finn lately, Rachel felt guilt and, perhaps strangely still, she felt a sense of loss. Like something that was supposed to be there was missing. Over these past few weeks, maybe longer, she wasn't sure it had ever been there with Finn in the first place and perhaps now was the first time she'd allowed herself to realize that.

"Hi," Rachel ventured shyly. She didn't know why it was so hard for her to accept his adoring gaze, but the way he fawned over her left her unnerved.

"Hi," Finn took in her beauty all at once which overwhelmed him and he looked down nervously at his reflection in his shoes. He'd paid a man $10 to shine them outside of the hotel. This was important to him. She, he thought, was everything to him.

"What's so important?" Rachel's voice seemed clipped, but Finn was undeterred.

"Uh…th-these are for you." He thrust a bouquet of spring flowers into Rachel's arms: Daisies. Tulips. Hydrangea. As Rachel took them into her arms, she felt an added weight sink her into the ground. Finn was so kind—such a good man. But she felt the urge to drop the flowers and drift away from him. Something didn't feel right but if she'd said that aloud, especially to Finn, she knew everything would shatter. So she smiled tightly and waited for him to speak because she couldn't bear it.

"Plus, since we're both captains and all, we should write a duet for Nationals."

Rachel felt relief wash over her but still didn't trust Finn's intentions, "The tie? The flowers? Central Park?"

"It's a work date," he assured her and she nodded, "Totally professional." Finn felt triumphant that he would treat Rachel to a surprise tonight. This was his chance, after all. Sam was right. Paris is the "city of love," not New York. But Finn felt like New York was the city of taking chances and he'd heard it was also the city where dreams came true. The only person who had ever lived in his dreams for any meaningful time was Rachel and she would be his. She had to be. She'd wanted him forever. The way that Rachel looked at him when he and Quinn were together—that longing, that sadness. He could make that go away; he was certain of it.

He extended his arm for Rachel to hold as they walked the two blocks to Sardi's Restaurant. After his sit-down with the guys, he had made reservations there because Rachel wouldn't stop talking about it on the plane ride. Finn didn't mind doing what she liked, he thought, as long as this place had a decent quarter-pounder and served its veggies fried or not at all.

He held the door open to the little bistro and she curtseyed in thanks. That was something Finn loved about Rachel—she was just different than other girls. When he'd give her a flower, she'd wave them around like a wand. When he'd ask her to dinner, she wouldn't say "sure," she'd say she was "much obliged" to join him. Finn didn't always follow what she was talking about, but he loved to listen to her. Even in her speaking voice, there was music and in her movements, theater.

As the host seated them, Rachel's eyes scanned the walls of the restaurant picking out caricatures of her favorite Broadway stars and imagining who her picture would one day hang beside. She clasped her hands together and leaned across the table, "Oh my God, I can't believe we're at Sardi's—Sardi's! The birthplace of the Tony Award."

Finn's hopes for the menu were dashed as he scanned each page, "What's a 'salad in a cozy?'"

Rachel was too excited by her surroundings to even pretend to listen to Finn's concerns about the lackluster menu. She smiled brightly, declaring, "They're going to put a cartoon like this of me on these walls."

"I like the way you dream so big," Finn shrugged, suddenly self conscious, "I don't know how to do that."

Rachel's eyes fell to the tablecloth and she felt that haunting guilt again—like she was making implicit promises to Finn that she couldn't make good on.

Noticing her change in mood, Finn continued, "You look so pretty tonight."

This made Rachel smile, a tight-lipped smile. She hoped she didn't look disingenuous but she didn't know how else to react. She wasn't as good at this as she used to be and she didn't know why. Rachel hoped that after a few days of Finn fawning over her, she'd come to her senses.

"Rachel I have something to say to you—" Finn started but found himself cut off.

"Oh my God! It's Patti Lupone!" Rachel surprised herself with how well she kept her voice down. But she felt panicked at the notion that her idol was only feet away from her, "Oh no, I can't! I can't do this!"

Finn cocked his head and looked on dumbly at the woman walking away from their table. He'd certainly never seen her before.

"No. No, I have to. If not for me, then for Kurt. I mean, he'd kill me if I didn't." Rachel plucked up her formidable courage and slinked out of her seat to confront the Broadway legend.

"Miss Lupone? I have to say that you're my idol."

"Well, thank you, that's very sweet of you." The older woman smiled warmly at the young ingénue, "Are you an actress?"

Rachel answered without hesitation, "Yes, well, I-I'm in high school."

Finn, not nearly as starstruck, interjected, "We're in town for the national show choir championship."

Lupone smiled down at Finn who was still seated at the table, "I was in choir in high school. It was my favorite class," she shifted her attention back to Rachel, "What's your name?"

"Rachel Berry." She answered in a small voice.

She wistfully studied the girl's face for a moment, "Well, Rachel Berry, promise me one thing: You'll never give up."

Rachel was all too eager to assure her, "Yes, Ms. Lupone, I promise."

Patti Lupone shook both of the teenagers' hands and wished them well before resting her hand on Rachel's arm and whispering, "He's cute."

Rachel couldn't believe her luck as she sat, dumbstruck across from a beaming Finn. This night was going perfectly, he thought. And there was only one way to end it.

The pair exited the restaurant hours later. The cool night air was bracing, but not uncomfortably so and they took the leisurely route back to the hotel.

Unlike in Lima, Rachel couldn't see the stars above her, but the lights of the city were just as comforting because they felt, to her, just as sure and permanent. She basked in the afterglow of her surreal meeting with Lupone and looked to the sights and sounds around her for reassurance of her reality. She wanted to be told that, yes, that actually happened. Never give up, her idol had said. Rachel tried to shrug off the uneasiness she had felt all week and resolved herself to look only to the good things in her life—all that lay ahead.

She let Finn take her arm as they walked home, "Being in New York is like falling in love over and over again every minute." She looked up to see Finn's reassuring smile, "Tonight felt like one of those awesome nights you see in those amazing romantic comedies. All we need now is just a group of street singers to serenade us and it would be perfect."

The chill of the ocean air cause Rachel to step in closer to Finn and she slammed her eyes shut as she rested her head against his shoulder.

_This should be perfect as it is. Everything is what I wanted. Well, at least it's what I wished for. I feel like I don't know what I want lately. Why do I feel like I belong anywhere but here—not New York—but right _here_. With him. _

Rachel squeezed Finn's arm tighter to keep from drifting further away from him in her mind. Finn took this as a sign of affection, his heart swelling under the bella luna. Not nearly as bella as she, he thought.

"Wait," he turned to face her, "This is the moment in those romantic comedies where I kiss you." His smile was shy but earnest and he took her hands in his.

Rachel thought if she looked away, she could hide her trepidation, "I thought this was just a work date."

"Really?" Finn smirked sweetly as he held onto her hands tighter and studied her face.

Rachel was relieved that the worry on her face passed for surprise as she shook her head and mouthed, "No." The comforting light of the streetlamp above them turned into the 5000 watt glare of a spotlight and she felt her skin grow uncomfortably hot as she shifted her weight.

Finn beamed down at her; her nervousness only endeared her to him more. He slid his fingers under Rachel's chin, tilting her delicate face up towards him, and leaned down to kiss her. Just as their lips were about to meet, Rachel finally admitted aloud what she'd yet to even admit privately to herself.

"I can't."

Hurt and confusion clouded Finn's face, but he refused to give up, "Take a chance on me," he pleaded softly before leaning down again.

This time, Rachel looked startled as she pulled away from him, "I'm sorry, Finn. I can't."

Rachel's rejection sent Finn reeling backwards into a stunned haze of bewilderment while Rachel took the opportunity to scamper away into the darkness, more content to walk the last block alone than risk suffocating anymore in what she knew was a lie. As she strode towards the looming hotel, she begged her focus to rest on anything but Finn. She started to count the pavement slabs, being careful to step over the cracks, but as she did so, her attention fell on the sounds of her heels on the cement.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

_Quinn. _Rachel knew her own shoes made the familiar noise, but the sound still comforted her as she walked back in the cold. The coastal breeze had gone from bracing to blistering without a warm body to lean against, and she slid her hands up and down her bare arms. She wanted desperately to reach the hotel before Finn; she couldn't bear to see pain mar his good-natured features and know that she'd caused it.

_Here it is. Finally._ Rachel pushed open the towering glass doors of the hotel and took her steps in leaps to reach the upward bound elevator before it closed. She gasped to catch her breath as a curious businessman ruffled his Wall Street Journal and peered at the petite brunette beside him.

"You do know that the elevators come whenever you push the button, sweetie…? There's no 'last call.'" The portly suit chortled to himself as Rachel smiled politely, too sweet to know better.

"Twelfth floor, please."

He raised his eyebrow, but pushed the button for her and leaned back against the brass pole, refolding his newspaper. Rachel Berry had a way of getting people to do what she wanted. She was "larger than life is a small package," Finn had told her once. She turned to face the illuminated skyline of the city, staring through the glass wall of the elevator. Right as the elevator began to rise, she saw Finn approach the hotel doors below her. She watched him until his face was obscured by height and the night haze. Just then, the elevator stopped and the businessman turned to face Rachel.

"Isn't this you?" He grumbled.

"Yeah. Yeah, Thank you." Rachel turned and strode out of the elevator towards the girls' room.

She unlocked the door and was careful to open it with painstaking care as she knew everyone was already asleep. She slowly shut it behind her with a muffled thud and let her eyes adjust to the darkness. Everything was shrouded in pitch black night except for a patch of moonlight spilling through a wide gap in the curtains. Rachel stepped tentatively towards the light and saw Quinn's radiant features illuminated in the moonlight as she dozed peacefully, curled up on an armchair. Recalling how that ethereal face contorted in rage earlier proved impossible for Rachel. She smiled softly down at the sleeping beauty who was clutching a near-stuffingless pillow to her chest. _That can't be comfortable._ Rachel looked to her left and saw that there was a folded blanket at the foot of Lauren's cot, so she picked it up and gently laid it over Quinn's bare legs. Quinn made a sleepy purring noise and nestled further into her pillow at the light touch of the blanket which made Rachel giggle until she realized who she was mooning over. In an instant, Rachel's expression changed and she turned around to find her suitcase. She rifled noiselessly through her things to fetch her pajamas and refused herself the comfort of thinking about how beautiful Quinn looked under the watch of the moon.

No doubt Rachel would have been further mortified by the situation had she known Quinn was awake the entire time she was in the room. Quinn had always been a light sleeper. The slightest noise could snap her from a deep sleep; it wasn't just habit, it was a survival mechanism she'd learned so many years ago. She could hear a plate shatter in the insulated basement as she lay in bed on the top floor of the manor. She could hear her mother's sobs muffled by pillows all the way down the hallway and through closed doors. Come to think of it, she had never been happy to be awakened by anything in her recent memory except for now. The instant the door clicked behind Rachel, Quinn could smell that familiar scent—coconut and a hint of honey. She hugged the threadbare pillow to her chest and nuzzled it, making sure to keep her movements slow and sleepy as she heard Rachel pad towards her. When she felt the warmth of a blanket draped across her legs, Quinn was so overwhelmed by her tenderness that she couldn't stop herself from cooing happily and hugging her pillow closer which she could hear made Rachel laugh. Soon enough, the scent drifted away and Quinn knew that Rachel had walked away from her. Quinn heard the bathroom faucet running on and off for a bit until she heard Rachel return to the bedroom.

After a few moments of denying herself, Quinn finally let one of her eyes flutter open. She stifled a gasp as she did so. Rachel was facing away from her with only her pajama bottoms on, and was pulling her flannel button-down top up her back and onto her shoulders. Quinn allowed her eyes to rake briefly over the angular muscles of Rachel's bare back. It was browned and defined and her shoulder blades looked like angel wings as she shrugged the sleep shirt on. Quinn wondered briefly if her fingers would fit into the grooves of Rachel's back and how soft Rachel's skin would feel if she tried. As she buttoned her shirt, Rachel turned around to face the bed and Quinn slammed her eyes shut again, trying to steady her rapid breath and still her pounding heart. _Coconut and honey. She smells like iced tea on the beach and she's walking towards me again. _Rachel stopped just short of Quinn's chair and flopped onto the empty bed beside it. The brunette rested her head in her hands as she laid on her stomach and the fine hairs on the back of Quinn's neck stood up as she felt she was being watched.

She heard Rachel shift her weight on the bed and then lightly, ever so lightly, Quinn could feel the pads of Rachel's fingertips hover over her hair. Quinn begged her body to cooperate and remain still as Rachel gently pressed down her fingers into her tousled blonde mane. She was certain she'd forgotten how to breathe once she felt Rachel's thumb caress the ghost of her bruise under her eye with such gentleness. Quinn was too exhausted to process who exactly was making her feel like this and she was too electrified by Rachel's touch to dare push her away. No one in her life had ever touched her like this before.

As Rachel lay on the bed, marveling at the gentile beauty beneath her fingertips, she, too, refused to admit to the gravity of what she was feeling and what she was doing. She watched as her fingers wandered through Quinn's silky hair and came to rest under her eye. Rachel's lips quirked up into a smile as she slid her palm down to cup Quinn's cheek and felt the girl lean gently into her touch. _Quinn must be a heavy sleeper. _Just then, Rachel noticed the blanket slipping off the blonde's long legs. Rachel's next action was deliberate, but if asked, she'd swear something impalpable pushed her to do it. As she saw the blanket fall, Rachel leaned over Quinn's body and laid it out across her evenly. Every one of Quinn's nerve-endings were aflame, but she remained perfectly still, not even breathing as Rachel hovered over her, fixing the fallen blanket. Rachel gripped the arm of Quinn's chair and started to tuck the blanket in around her. She slid her hand over the blanket and then tucked it behind Quinn's back and around her legs. Even through the blanket, Rachel's touch was more than Quinn could bear and she shivered slightly under the tiny brunette. Rachel quirked her eyebrow and looked down at the sleeping figure beneath her. Only then did she see the tightness in Quinn's jaw, the rigidity of her back, and the way her fists were balled into the pillow. _My God. She's awake._

Rachel instantly retreated from Quinn's chair and curled up into a ball on the bed, praying she was wrong and begging for sleep to come take her away.

**OOOO**

The next morning, Kurt bounded into the girls room, almost toppling over the small cot that Santana and Brittany shared. He smirked back at the dozing couple and navigated Rachel's bed, climbing up behind her.

"Rachel, wake up! Wake up!" He whispered into her ear, tapping her on the shoulder. Rachel's head shot up and she swiped a little drool from her chin, much to her embarrassment. _At least it's only Kurt._ Quinn, of course, was awake from the moment she heard the door click behind her, and listened quietly to their exchange.

Swiping at her slightly drooling, parted lips she mumbled, "Why?"

"We're going to breakfast at Tiffany's." Kurt cocked his eyebrow and swung his legs back and forth like a little kid.

Only feet away, Quinn twisted her hands deeper in the pillow case and stifled a sigh. It wasn't easy to watch her like this. To watch Rachel living her dreams in the Big Apple with the man who loved her and friends who adored her when Quinn felt so disconnected from it all. Quinn clutched the memory of last night to her chest so hard, that it threatened to shatter with the slightest movement. She waited patiently for the two to collect their things and greet the New York Morning without her.

As she heard the door click softly behind the pair, Quinn stretched out her long legs and cracked the kink in her back as she rose from the chair. It seemed to be just her luck that the other girls started to stir in their blankets and open their eyes at the very moment she wished for solitude. Quinn sunk back down into her chair, curling her legs underneath her.

Santana detangled herself from Brittany's grasp to sit up on the edge of their cot before catching Quinn's stony gaze. The girls locked eyes until the corner of Santana's lips quirked upward.

"Nice hair, Q."

Quinn's hand immediately shot to her unruly mane, and she ran her fingers back through it to try and flatten it as much as possible. A trace of a smile played across Quinn's lips and she nodded her head slightly in thanks for Santana's tip. That's just how it was between the two friends. No apologies. No explanations. Just quiet understanding and a clean slate for a new day.

Santana turned back around to nuzzle Brittany's shoulder and whispered softly, "Wake up, Britty Bear…"

Mercedes couldn't resist, "'Britty Bear?' Tell me ya'll aren't serious with that." The girl covered her face with her pillow and rolled over as Tina and Lauren giggled. Santana grew red in the face at the knowledge the other girls overheard her.

"Hey Santana," Tina ventured, her voice sounded grave before devolving into giggles, "Can I call you Lubby Dubby Lopez?"

Santana crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes menacingly, "Not if you don't want me to knock you out so hard your stutter comes back."

The girls whooped and chuckled at Santana's threat which became much less threatening once Brittany sat up on their cot and circled her arms around Santana's waist making the fiery girl's temper subside.

The girls started getting ready for the day, laughing and talking excitedly about the competition, until Santana noticed something very loud was missing, "Hey, where's Berry?"

Mercedes furrowed her eyebrows, "I don't know…Did she even come home last night?"

Santana looked incredulous, "Oh, please God. If Rachel Berry stayed out all night in New York City while I wasted away in some hotel room by 10 o'clock I'm gonna hurl myself down the elevator shaft."

"Don't be so dramatic," Quinn chided coolly, "Rachel came home last night. She just left to go somewhere with Kurt this morning." At that, Quinn pushed by the other girls towards the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind her. She heard Mercedes, Lauren, and Tina all head down the hallway to the boys' room and she prayed Santana and Brittany would follow suit. Much to her chagrin, however, she could hear muffled giggles and kissing sounds from outside the door. _Really, guys?_

Quinn perched on the edge of the giant marble tub and stared dumbly down at the pristine white tiles. It sounded insane, but she felt like if she thought about what had happened between her and Rachel last night in front of the others, they would somehow be able to read her face and just know. Irrational, she knew, but then again, so was this whole situation. Quinn's mind drifted back to the events of last night. Although her visual memory was limited since she'd spent so much of her time with her eyes slammed shut, she remembered every caress of Rachel's small hands.

_How did she have that kind of power over me? My body was like a well worn map and hers were the fingers that traced its roads and valleys so well, like she'd plotted them over and over in her mind._

Quinn wondered idly whether Rachel ever thought of touching her the way Quinn had thought of touching Rachel last night when she saw the nakedness of her back. Her eyes fluttered shut and she scraped her fingernails down her forearm as she let the ghost of Rachel's perfume overtake her senses.

_No. Stupid. She had worn that perfume for Finn. She had covered me with that blanket in friendship and then left with Kurt this morning before I even woke up because she had better things to do than talk with me about what happened last night. Because nothing happened last night._

Tears welled up in her eyes, making them a murky green.

_I'm delusional._

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Quinn jumped, startled at the steady rapping at the bathroom door.

"Quinn!" Santana fumed impatiently, "Quit hogging the bathroom. I needs to re-pencil my eyebrows on!"

Quinn pushed the door open, tilting her head down to hide her tears, "It's all yours."

"Everybody's already in the other room working."

"Oh, yeah? Is Mr. Schue in there?" Quinn's voice wavered and she clenched her fists, leaving the girls to exchange worried glances, "Because I think I'm going to tell him that Rachel and Kurt keep sneaking off."

Santana could tell by the edge in Quinn's voice that she wasn't bluffing. Brittany piped up, "You can't do that; he'll have to suspend them."

"And then there goes our chances at Nationals, darn!" Quinn spat.

Santana sized Quinn up, "You know what? We get it. You're pissed about Finn dumping your sweet ass. Get _over _it."

"I don't want to get over it, okay?" Quinn shook, almost manic in her distress.

"The only person that you're sabotaging here is yourself."

"I don't care about some _stupid _show choir competition!" The force of Quinn's words knocked Brittany backwards, but Santana was unmoved.

"Well you _should_! Because this is the one chance that we have to actually feel good about ourselves."

Quinn felt hot tears burn down her cheeks, "Aren't we supposed to be the popular girls?"

Santana was taken aback by Quinn's emotion and scoffed nervously.

Quinn shook her head, "So why can't we have our dreams come true?" In that moment, Quinn could only think of Rachel, "_She_ has love, Tina has it, even Zises hooks up."

Brittany and Santana watched their friend and former leader sink down onto the bed with tears rolling freely down her cheeks. They slowly approached her and sidled up beside her, letting her cry in peace. The girls knew how hard this was for Quinn and they'd certainly never seen her like this before. It shook them and left them scrambling for what to do.

"I just want somebody to love me." Quinn couldn't hold back the words that escaped her lips as she sat between her friends, pining for a love that wasn't hers and, she thought, never would be. She could still feel the warm imprints of a petite hand sliding up her back when she was snapped from her reverie by Brittany's comforting touch brushing her hair from her darkened eyes.

"I think I know how to make you feel better." Santana nodded resolutely.

Quinn froze instinctively and stuttered her reply, "I'm flattered Santana, but I'm really not that into that."

Santana's eyes widened in discomfort and she assured her friend, "No. No, I'm not talking about that." Quinn sniffled and cocked her head.

"I'm talking about a haircut."

Brittany's eyes lit up, "Yes! Totally."

Santana waited for Quinn's grateful smirk and rested her head against the blonde's shoulder. She may not have been very good at these kind of things, but in the end, she knew she could always find a way to be there for a friend. Quinn was just so difficult to read, Santana never knew if she was helping or hurting. She shared a furtive look of concern with her girlfriend over Quinn's shoulder. _Sweet Jesus… Finn had _really_ broken Quinn's heart._


End file.
